WWPR: Power Rangers West Wing
by Alberto Fedrigotti
Summary: They're done saving the world. Now, they're trying to run it! If the Rangers ran the West Wing universe. Mostly MMPRZeo, but others may show up as needed.
1. The Rounding Up of the Usual Suspects

Variation on the standard Disclaimer: If you've heard it once, you've heard it a million times: the Power Rangers are the property of Haim Saban, Disney, and whoever else may or may not be in charge of them now. Portions of the plot (and some dialogue) are straight out of The West Wing, which was created by Aaron Sorkin. In the words of Sorkin's character, Sam Seaborn, "Good writers borrow from other writers. Great writers steal from them outright." (Season 4, Episode 1: 20 Hours in America)

Notes: The Rangers will be filling the major roles from the West Wing TV series, but any names you don't recognize are old friends of mine (or, at least, reasonable facsimiles of them) and are used purely for my amusement. They don't realize they're in here, and I don't care if they ever find out or not. This is my pathetic attempt to combine my two favorite TV universes, and while I expect the results to be disastrous, I hope someone out there somewhere finds this worthwhile. As far as a timeline, I'd say this takes place in, oh, let's say 2009, which, I realize, is too soon constitutionally for these guys to be eligible to get elected, but not for the actors who played them (wink, wink; nudge, nudge). Without further ado, you're watching WWPR on CSC, so stick around!

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Episode 1: Pilot

Scene 1: The Rounding Up of the Usual Suspects

4:45 a.m., a two-bedroom condo in Tacoma Park, MD

The sudden blaring of a cell phone stirred him from an uneasy sleep. It wasn't that he hadn't gotten used to running his life on three hours of sleep a night (if that), but it still came as a shock. Fumbling around on the desk, his hand finally ran across the offending piece of technology. Hitting the appropriate button, the man mumbled something that sounded remarkably like, "Huh?"

The response on the other end of the line was enough to shake off the lingering effects of slumber immediately. "HE DID WHA—Is he okay?" "No, of course, I'll be right in." _Well, it's not like it was going to be an easy day to begin with_, William "Billy" Cranston thought to himself as he slipped his glasses on and shuffled off to the shower. The fact that the rest of the gang would know in a matter of minutes was the sole comfort the now-bespectacled genius took from the call.

_Oh, for a return to those halcyon days when all we had to do was save the world after school and get back home in time for dinner. Back then, at least if I broke my arm or something in a battle, not only could we fix it in a matter of hours, but we also KNEW it wouldn't be covered by the entire Fourth Estate!_ Now the entire news cycle would be spent discussing how the President had flown right past his sparring partner during a workout and slammed his right leg through what, thankfully, was a non-load-bearing wall in a hotel workout room. X-rays apparently were negative, but he'd still given Conan and Kimmel enough new material to last a month. _How did we even get elected in the first place?_ Hopping out of the shower and grabbing a towel, Cranston decided it was time to let the rest of the staff know, assuming they didn't already. Picking up the landline, which he knew was secure, he started on the phone tree, beginning the rounding up of the usual suspects, giving orders for them to be in his office by 7:00 at the latest.

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5:05 a.m., United Flight 145, somewhere over the Blue Ridge Mountains

Lauren Zuziak marched towards the back of the plane, approaching two of her fellow flight attendants, who were engaged in a discussion with a well-built Asian gentleman that was getting fairly heated. (Dangling modifier patrol: the discussion was getting heated, not the guy. Back to the story.) The plane was on final approach to Dulles and the exasperated attendants were trying to get the gentleman to turn off his laptop. It was at this point that Ms. Zuziak decided to announce her presence. "Adam Park?"

The speechwriter, who had been trying (with little success) to ignore the other two attendants the whole time, looked up from his notes to the lanky blonde in front of him and indicated that he was the one whom she was looking for.

"I have a message for you, but I'm not sure if I got it right," Lauren continued in her light drawl. "POTUS in an accident?"

Adam rolled his eyes toward the heavens, muttered, "You've got it right" and started to dial a number on his phone.

"I'm sorry," she continued, "but you cannot use any electronic devices until we land."

Adam looked up again, annoyed this time, and said through clenched teeth, "We're flying in an A-320 airbus that was put through 3 years worth of wind tunnel and security tests, with navigation systems that could find the flight deck of the USS Coral Sea in a category 5 hurricane. It cost approximately $2 billion to develop. You're telling me I can crash this thing with something I bought at Radio Shack?"

"You can make your call when we're safely on the ground, sir." Lauren responded, walking back up to her seat.

Mr. Park turned off his phone in resignation, but retorted, "Also, I never got my peanuts."

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5:10 a.m., 24-Hour Fitness, SE DC

It was still dark outside, but activity was bustling inside the all-night gym. Katherine "Kat" Hilliard, the White House Press Secretary, was busy trying to simultaneously run on a treadmill while striking up a conversation with the guy running alongside her. She was far more engrossed in the conversation than he was, so it was he who noticed that her pager was going off. He alerted Katherine to this fact, and she looked down at the number.

_What on earth is the problem now? Boy, it was bad enough when we were saving the world, now we're all trying to run it. At least we're still all in this toge… _In her curiosity as to what her boss had gotten himself into, she had forgotten that she was still on the treadmill. At least, she had been until she rolled right off the edge and fell forward, landing flat on her face. "I'm okay!" she announced, but seeing as the gentleman had ignored her predicament and was still staring up at a television screen which was airing a replay of the 2:00 a.m. edition of _SportsCenter_, she shrugged it off and headed for the locker room to answer the call.

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5:15 a.m., West Wing office

The sound of yet another annoying ringtone could be heard in the office of the Deputy Chief of Staff. The office was in quite a state of disarray, but that could wait for later. Stirring from his chair, Rocky DeSantos stared blankly ahead for a moment, recalling just how badly yesterday had gone. _For all of Billy's inventions and theories, why couldn't intentional time travel have been one of them? Well, yeah, he did once, but that was a one-time-only thing. How could I be so stupid, and on national television to boot! So what if only three people actually watch C-Span, it was still dumb._ He knew that he would be lucky to still be employed at day's end, but right now, he had to take care of one thing at a time. And right now, that meant first finding, then answering his phone. "Yeah, go ahead."

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5:30 a.m., an apartment in SE DC

The sound of a running shower could be heard in the background as an auburn-haired woman sat up in bed. She turned her head towards the bathroom door and shouted, "Hey, Tommy, your pager's going off in here!" That was all it took to get Dr. Oliver out of the shower. Why a doctor of paleontology would choose to take a desk job in DC was beyond just about anyone, unless they knew just where that desk was, as this lady was about to be made aware.

"'Potus in an accident. Come to the office.' I memorized it just in case I accidentally deleted it or something." She droned on about the similarity between their pagers, not that Tommy was paying attention at the moment.

Taking a look at the message, Tommy glanced back at her with a resigned look on his face, regretting both that last drink last night that had precipitated this circumstance as well as the rather abrupt goodbye that was about to happen. "I know this doesn't look good, but I have to go," he told her, throwing his pants back on.

"You're right. It doesn't look good."

"You're a very nice girl, and if you'd be willing to give me your number, I'd be more than happy to call you soon."

"Stay right here, save yourself the call."

"It's not that I don't see the logic in that, but I really do need to go."

"'Cause Potus was involved in an accident?" she inquired while scribbling ten digits down on a scrap of paper.

"Yeah."

Handing Tommy his pager and simultaneously stuffing the sheet of paper in his shirt pocket, she turned her head up, looking him straight in the eyes. "Tell your friend Potus he has a funny name, and he should watch where he's running."

"I would, but he's not just my friend, he's my boss. And it's not his name, it's his title."

"POTUS?"

"President of the United States. I'll call you!" That was the last thing the lady heard as Tommy raced out the door.

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Well, that's the intro. It's honestly my first try at this, so whether it's any good or not, I'll let you be the judge. I'm reworking some of the plots Sorkin wrote, so as to remove some of the more blatant partisan shots. As a God-fearing moderate, I pride myself on being able to see both sides of the argument and striving to find the common ground. I've just about finished gaming out the pilot, and if enough of you like it, I will try doing this with other episodes. (I just might do it regardless, as I have a few ideas running through my head. It's just a matter of who to place where.) You know the drill, please R&R.


	2. Welcome to Washington

Variation on the standard Disclaimer: Good evening, from Los Angeles, I am _not_ Dan Rydell, nor am I Casey McCall. If you've heard it once, you've heard it a million times: the Power Rangers are the property of Haim Saban, Disney, and whoever else may or may not be in charge of them now. Portions of the plot (and some dialogue) are straight out of The West Wing, which was created by Aaron Sorkin.) And with that, you're watching WWPR on CSC, so stick around!

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6:50 that same morning, West Wing Lobby

Billy Cranston slid his ID badge through the security device in the lobby and walked past the guards. One of them took the opportunity to say hello. "Good day, Mr. Cranston."

"Well, we'll fix that in a hurry, won't we, Brandon?" Billy deadpanned without missing a beat. The Chief of Staff continued making his rounds through the hallways of the West Wing, greeting various members of the staff and handing out a couple of orders on the way, dealing with topics ranging from reports that were long past due to a misspelled entry in that morning's New York Times crossword puzzle.

"Morning, Billy", intoned Aisha Campbell, Rocky's assistant and another of this particular administration's inner circle.

"Is Rocky in?" Billy inquired.

"Yeah."

After a few seconds of silence, "Could you get him?" came Billy's exasperated response.

"ROCKY!" Aisha shouted down the hall.

"Thanks" was his reply, while rolling his eyes in a manner that in no uncertain terms stated _I could have done that_.

"Is the President okay?"

"What are you, from State Farm? He missed his opponent, then swerved to avoid running through a wall."

"And what happened?"

"He was unsuccessful!" Billy gave up on this conversation and continued through the maze of offices. Running into Kat as he passed the hallway that led to the Briefing Room, he was verbally assaulted by the blond Aussie, who demanded any available information on the state of the President's injury, as well as how it happened. "They're laughing pretty hard," she said, referring to the press corps.

"What do you want?" Cranston asked incredulously. "The President, while engaged in a martial arts exhibition, which he has done on an almost daily basis since he was eight, charged past his opponent and came to a sudden, drywall-induced stop."

"That material may work on _Last Comic Standing_", but the press is hunting for blood, Billy," Kat admonished.

"That's why you're the one that deals with the sharks and not me."

"Any word on the Cuba situation?"

"Just that a group of would-be refugees are on their way. We don't know when they left; we don't know how many there are. Apparently if I stood on high ground in Key West with a good pair of binoculars, I would be better informed than I am now."

"Intelligence budget's being well spent, isn't it?"

"Apparently."

"Billy?"

"Yes?"

"Go easy on him. He said what he said in the heat of the moment. And while he may have been inappropriate, he was also right."

"Like I don't know that." Cranston muttered under his breath as he walked away. Continuing down the hall, he dropped in on Rocky DeSantos's office. Taking a quick glance at his deputy, it was painfully obvious that the man had spent the night in his office. Taking a moment to set aside how ticked off he was, Bill asked Rocky about the current problem facing them: several boatloads of Cuban refugees making their way north towards Florida.

Rocky was the portrait of sarcastic sympathy. "Well, first off, lets dispose of these romantic notions of fishing boats, because when you say boat, you conjure up the image of…well, of a _boat_, for one thing. What the Cubans are on could charitably be described as rafts, okay. Aisha's desk, if it could float, would look good to them right now. We've got to do something. Can't you jury-rig some device to…I don't know, keep them afloat long enough for the Coast Guard to pull them in or something?"

"You know perfectly well why we can't," Cranston replied to his fellow former Blue Ranger. Pausing to see if anyone else was within earshot, he lowered his voice as he continued. "Putting the political ramifications of aiding refugees from Cuba aside for a second, if we got help out to them before the Coast Guard arrived, it still might be enough to blow our identities. How we kept all that secret during the campaign, I will never know, but we swore all those years ago that we would never let anyone know about our double lives as Rangers, and in the name of all that is holy, I intend to honor that vow. Which means that from time to time, we have to make some very tough decisions. And before you complain about my being pragmatic, shall we have another look at your disastrous performance on "Washington Weekly" yesterday?"

"Did the President say anything?" was the best that Rocky could come up with as Cranston marched out of the office. Rocky followed in hot pursuit, desperate to defend himself.

"DID THE PRESIDENT SAY ANYTHING! The President's seriously pissed off, Rocky, and so am I. You go on television with two ex-marine congressmen and go around bashing the military? That's like going on Air America and telling Jeanine Garofolo you're opposed to all forms of birth control! I'm not saying you were wrong, but I am saying, whatever you were smoking before the show, it's time to share. We need these people!"

"We do _not_ need these people."

"We need them a lot more than you think."

"Todd Roberts and his cronies? I don't think so."

"Well, I'd like a constitutional amendment banning artificial turf and the designated hitter, but it's not my call, now is it?" Billy fumed as the two walked into his office, where Adam, Kat and Tommy had congregated, waiting for them so the day's first senior staff meeting could begin.

"Back to the Cuba situation." Cranston said, calling attention to the biggest problem at hand.

"There are about 1,500 Cubans who began embarking from a fishing village near Havana." Tommy informed the group.

"Does anyone know where they're headed yet?" inquired Billy's secretary (who shall remain nameless for the moment as she has nothing else to say for the rest of this episode).

"Vegas" deadpanned Rocky.

"Miami, though it's not clear what kind of navigational equipment…" Tommy continued, only to be interrupted by Rocky again.

"Navigational equipment—_THAT WAY IS NORTH_ pretty much sums up their navigational equipment! Come on, Kat. If one of these guys could throw a 95-mph fastball, we'd send in half the Atlantic Fleet."

"That's not fair and you know it." Kat responded. "Besides, that's not the problem."

"Then what is?" Rocky asked, knowing the answer perfectly well.

"What to do when the Niña, the Pinta and the Get Me the Hell Outta Here hit Miami." Adam finished the thought on everyone's mind.

"We can't send them back. They'd go to jail if they're lucky." Tommy pointed out.

"Where could we find room for them, Texas?" Billy asked.

"I don't know, I'm just saying, isn't this more of a military situation?" Tommy again. There was dead silence in the room for a second.

"Military?" Billy repeated.

"Yeah."

Adam set up the joke this time. "You think the United States is under attack from 1,200 Cubans in rowboats?"

"I'm not saying I don't like our chances." Tommy slammed home the alley-oop.

"Would someone care to remind me how we ever won an election," Adam returned the favor.

"Can't send in the National Guard, you'll create a panic." Kat pointed out.

Adam had had enough for the moment. "She's right. Okay, I agree with Rocky, I agree with Tommy and I agree with Kat. All at the same time. That's pretty disturbing. Okay. We've got to find a way to get these people some real help. You don't have to start a game of "red rover" with Castro, but you send in food and doctors."

Billy thought all this over, then agreed with Adam. "Okay, next order of business. What to do about Rocky."

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	3. What to do, What to do?

Variation on the standard Disclaimer: Good evening, from Los Angeles, I am _not_ Dan Rydell, nor am I Casey McCall. If you've heard it once, you've heard it a million times: the Power Rangers are the property of Haim Saban, Disney, and whoever else may or may not be in charge of them now. Portions of the plot (and some dialogue) are straight out of The West Wing, which was created by Aaron Sorkin.) And with that, you're watching WWPR on CSC, so stick around!

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9:30 a.m., White House Press Briefing Room

"He's going to have to fire him," Shaun Soderburg said to one of his fellow reporters as they waited for Kat to walk in and start the mid-morning press briefing.

"The President is not going to fire DeSantos," Jackie Andrews fired back while pouring a cup of coffee.

"He's not going to have a choice."

"And I'm telling you it's not going to happen."

"If you believe that, you spent too much time surfing your brains out while you were getting that journalism degree of yours."

Before Jackie could remind Shaun that he had a) attended the same college as she and b) had his head buried in the school's first-base dugout during that same time, Kat waltzed up to the podium and started her daily dog-and-pony show of trying to get the major news of the day out without causing too much embarrassment to the administration. And today, that task would be decidedly difficult.

"Okay, first things first. The President is in the process of being remitted from Hughes Memorial Hospital in Fort Worth, Texas, where he was diagnosed with a sprained ankle after leaping past his sparring partner and sending his right leg through a wall in the exercise room of the Mariott where the President and First Lady were staying." The snickers of most of the press corps were not lost on her. "Included in your information packets are photos of the President resisting offers to help him up and then falling down again. By all means, enjoy yourselves. Item two…"

"Katherine, has the President decided on…" Jackie started to interject a question regarding Rocky's TV gaffe.

"Jackie, it's a light day, I'm just going to go through these as fast as I can, and then we'll see about questions. Item two…"

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9:35 a.m., Rocky's office

Rocky stared at his reflection in the blank television screen as he sat down and pushed a tape into the VHS player on top of it. He began watching (for about the thirtieth time that morning) the aforementioned television program and the segment that was swiftly becoming the bane of his existence.

(on videotape): "I am not saying that you guys are incompetent." Rocky hastily said.

"That sure is what it sounds like." Came the retort of Ret. Sgt. Todd Roberts, (R-Palm Springs, CA).

"You still think all you're fighting are conventional wars waged by human beings. If you don't think we've got problems that are at least as big coming from deep space, than you _deserve_ to have a 70-foot robot stomp on your base!"

(back in the room): "Open mouth, insert both feet", Rocky muttered to himself, as he rewound the tape and watched those same 10 seconds over…and over…and over, figuratively kicking himself every time. He was so absorbed by the nightmare he was reliving on the monitor, he didn't notice Aisha walk into his office carrying a coffee mug.

"I told you not to wear that tie on television" Aisha started.

"Somehow, I don't think the tie was my biggest problem" came the sarcastic response. "What's going on?"

"Nothing's going on! I just brought you coffee."

"Shut the door." Aisha did so, then came back to the desk.

"Aisha Campbell, how long have we known each other?"

"Since second grade."

"And how long have we been working in this office?"

"About nine months."

"When was the last time you brought me coffee?"

Before Aisha could respond to that, he answered the question for her. "It was NEVER! You've never brought me coffee. You didn't bother with Jolt either, but they stopped making that stuff years ago, so I can't blame you for that."

"Well, it you're going to make a big deal out…"

"Look, 'Sha, if I get fired, I get fired. Don't worry about it."

"Are you?"

"Worried? No."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know, but the answer to that one is a firm I don't know."

Aisha stepped around the desk, stopping next to Rocky's chair and put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't forget. You won that election for him. You and Billy and Tommy and Kat." As she said this, there was a knock at the door, which turned out to be Adam. "And him."

As Adam moved out of the way so Aisha could leave the room, Rocky called out to her. "Thanks for the coffee."

"She brought you coffee?" was Adam's somewhat bewildered reply.

"Shut up!" was the last thing out of Aisha's mouth as she went back to her desk.

"Don't ask," Rocky told Adam, who again shut the door, leaving the two men alone. "So what's up?"

"What did I tell you yesterday?"

"Don't go off on Todd Roberts."

"Exactly. So of course you did."

"Look, I already got taken out behind the woodshed by my predecessor this morning…"

"So it would seem—Hold on. 'Predecessor?' You've been hanging around Billy too much. You keep this up, you'll start to sound like him."

"I know. Scary, isn't it? Anyway, what do you want?"

"I want you to keep your job. I've got an idea, but please don't think this means in any way that I like you."

That line brought both a snicker and the beginnings of a smile to Rocky's face for the first time that day. "It's that bad?"

"Sort of. We bring Roberts, Bicknell and Fischer in here to discuss R&D of next-generation missile technology."

"You and Bill still think they can work out the kinks in that Star Wars shield-thingy?"

A smile broke over Adam's face at Rocky's grammatical reversion to his old self. "Not yet, but you know Billy. He'll figure it out soon enough. Back to the point, though, if we can get a picture of you in the same room as Roberts that doesn't include you mouthing off, it could be just what the doctor ordered."

"Remind me why I should do this?"

"Because you pulled a Pat Robertson on live television yesterday. And because if you don't, it's my job to tell the President that the best thing he can do from a public relations standpoint is to show you the door."

"Fine. When do you want to do this?"

"It's already scheduled. 4:30 in the Mural Room. Show up. Be nice. Keep your job."

"Yeah."

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	4. Psychics, psychos, and uncertainty

Variation on the standard Disclaimer: Good evening, from Los Angeles, I am _not_ Dan Rydell, nor am I Casey McCall. If you've heard it once, you've heard it a million times: the Power Rangers are the property of Haim Saban, Disney, and whoever else may or may not be in charge of them now. Portions of the plot (and some dialogue) are straight out of The West Wing, which was created by Aaron Sorkin.) And with that, you're watching WWPR on CSC, so stick around!

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Scene 4: Psychics; psychos; same difference

11:30 a.m., Roosevelt Room, West Wing

Rocky walked in as Billy was wrapping up a meeting with a few of the President's economic advisors. "That's fine," Billy told one of the suits across the table," but when the President gets the Cliff's Notes version of this report, he's going to think that economists were put on this earth to make astrologers look good. We all remember what happened to Miss Cleo, right?" That elicited a chuckle from everyone in the room.

"Bill…"

"Dexter, one year from today, where's the Dow?"

"Tremendous. Up 10 percent" responded the stout Asian gentleman on his right.

"Seth, one year from today?

"Not good. Down 15 percent" was the alternative the blond Caucasian across the table offered up.

"A year from now, at least one of you will look pretty stupid. Okay, we're done."

As the rest of the room (save Billy and Rocky) cleared out, Tommy came in.

"We have a storm system moving into South Florida," the former leader of the gang informed the two.

"See? With any luck, the Cubans will conduct a hasty retreat and live to defect another day," Billy said, as much for his own conscience's sake as for Rocky.

"Yeah, because they've all got the satellite feeds from NOAA," Rocky fired back.

"Ugh! You're right. We've got to move on this now." Turning around, he headed back towards his office. "Kiley! Get me Admiral MacMillen at Kings Bay on the phone, post haste. Tell him to mobilize…" Billy's instructions to his secretary faded out as he entered his office and disappeared from view.

As Tommy and Rocky watched their old friend leap into action, they paused in the same doorway. Tommy turned to his fellow former Red and stared intently at his clothing. "You wearing the same suit you wore yesterday?"

"Yeah. You, too?"

"Yeah." They were, but for entirely different reasons. With nothing else to say to each other, the two turned and left the room going in different directions.

Tommy's route took him into the path of his secretary, a full-figured brunette named Whitny, who dumped another problem onto his lap. "Mr. Cranston's father called."

"He hates me now."

"So it would seem."

"What did I do?"

"In his words? You let his only son disappear off the face of the earth for the better part of a decade and didn't tell him."

_Yeah, literally_ Oliver thought to himself. _Then again, Billy didn't tell any of us when he got back. At least, none of the ones I was still in touch with._ "Well, how much longer am I going to be paying for that?"

"It's going to be a little while longer."

"Well, what does he want?"

"He had arranged a tour for some students in his niece's civics class, and since he can't get here in time, he wants you to do it."

"I can't."

"You have to."

"No, I mean I can't. I don't know anything about the White House."

"You want to tell Billy to tell his father you stood up his neice?"

"His father's niece? Which would make this Billy's cousin?"

"Yeah."

"No, I'm not standing her up. I'm just going to farm it out to Adam."

"Isn't Adam your boss?"

"Yeah, but he'll understand." _Besides, Adam's just as guilty as I was of the offense Mr. Cranston is holding me responsible for. We all were._

Tommy was never more relieved to hear his pager went off. Not recognizing the number, he stopped at the nearest phone and dialed it. Naturally, he was shocked when an escort service answered. After apologizing to the anonymous voice on the other end, he turned to his secretary.

"Whitny, page me."

"Right now?"

"Yeah."

As she dialed the appropriate number, Tommy stared intently at the device he held in his hands. Nothing.

"You've switched pagers with someone," Whitny said, stating the obvious. Suddenly, the events of this morning came flooding back to Tommy, and he knew exactly what was going on.

"A woman's about to call me; she's not going to know why. Put her through." With that, he retreated to his office to await one of the more bizarre conversations he had had since…well, probably since he had left Reefside two years ago when Billy and Adam had shown up, asking him to help them with the campaign. His thoughts were starting to drift to the nostalgic, but were interrupted by the phone ringing. Without further ado, he explained the delicate situation to his lady-of-last-evening, and made a lunch date on the shortest notice he'd given since high school.

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12:45 p.m., Billy's office

Billy was on the phone, becoming increasingly irritable as he tried to settle the biggest problem he had yet to make any headway on that day.

"Seventeen across…Yes, 17-across is misspelled...How do I know? I just do…What's my name? My name isn't important. I'm just an ordinary citizen who gets a great deal of mentally-stimulating recreation from your fine paper, and I'm telling you that I've met the man twice, and recommended a couple of missile strikes against his bases, so I think I know how…"

"Billy, is this a good time…" Kat interrupted, but wasn't really interrupting, as he slammed the receiver back down just then.

"They hung up on me again. Do you believe these people?"

"Well, I'm usually more concerned about whether their beat writers can believe me, but I'll go out on a limb and say yes."

"Fair enough. So what brings you to my little corner of the institution?" It was a valid question. Aside from the daily staff meetings, the two didn't cross paths often, unless there was a major announcement whose details needed to be filtered in the interest of national security. In that sense, absolutely nothing had changed since high school.

"We might have a press leak on Brady II."

"That'll be Eric Myers shooting his mouth off, as we all know he is prone to do."

"Why would someone in the Secret Service have something to say on a gun-control bill?"

"This isn't someone. It's Eric. What else."

"Billy…"

"Don't ask me about Rocky."

"I was going to ask…"

"I honestly don't know anything."

"You know the President."

"So do you."

"You know him _better_."

"Not that much better. I've known him for almost thirty years, Kat, and I can tell you this: if his emotions are involved, as they certainly will be here, there's no telling which way he'll lean on anything."

"Right."

"I'm sorry, I'm late." With that, Billy gathered the papers on his desk and hustled out of the office, leaving Kat to stare out the window and wonder.

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	5. Blasts From the Past

Variation on the standard Disclaimer: Good evening, from Los Angeles, I am _not_ Dan Rydell, nor am I Casey McCall. If you've heard it once, you've heard it a million times: the Power Rangers are the property of Haim Saban, Disney, and whoever else may or may not be in charge of them now. Portions of the plot (and some dialogue) are straight out of The West Wing, which was created by Aaron Sorkin.) Thanks to Purple Strobe for being my first reviewer. WARNING: I know I'll catch a lot of flack for what happens to Tommy in this chapter. It was not my original idea, but once it entered my head, my twisted sense of humor just ran with it. I apologize in advance for siccing it on you, the unsuspecting readers. Here we go, then.

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1:00 p.m., the apartment we first saw Tommy in

Tommy entered the apartment, which he realized now was remarkably well furbished for a grad student with no apparent roommates, as Casey had claimed to be last night. If he thought he had dropped a bombshell on _her_ that morning, well, he had another thing coming.

"I have something to ask you," he started.

"Am I a hooker?" 'Casey' replied, handing him back his pager.

"No! What I was going to say is this: is—is it possible that, in addition to being a law-student, you might also be, what I'm guessing would have to be a very—high-priced—call girl? I am, by the way, making no judgments. It's just…"

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yeah, I've got to pay for school somehow. So, yes, except the law-school thing."

"You're not a law student?"

"I never claimed to be. I am a student, just not in law. I thought you already knew that."

Dumb-founded for a moment, a lone hamster started running on its wheel in Tommy's head. _Something seems dangerously familiar about this girl._ "What, then, might you be studying?"

"Journalism. And I gotta tell you, Doctor Oliver, you're still as absent-minded as you were back in your science classes. But since you did save the world a few dozen times back then, I guess you could find some bizarre, demented, Mary-Kay Laterneau-like way of viewing this situation as me saying thanks…though when you add in the videotape, you just might owe me one."

"Huh?" _Videotape? Wait a sec—change the hair color, go back about five years…Oh s#$! This is not happening! THIS IS NOT HAPPENING!_

"I knew you wouldn't recognize me. Let's face it, most of us girls had some teacher fantasy that you would have been perfect for, and while there was never any evidence, we all figured that given all the time you spent hanging around Kira…"

"Cassidy!"

"In the flesh. But then, you already knew that."

"I…" _think I'm going to be sick_ was the last thing that passed through the technicolor Ranger's head as he fainted, crashing to the floor of Miss Cornell's living room, mercifully unconscious—for the moment.

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1:45 p.m., exterior Constitution Avenue, near the Capitol building

Billy was out for a walk with one of the congressmen who would be attending Rocky's do-or-die meeting later that afternoon. It was the only one of the three that he could honestly say he liked. "I don't have to tell you, sir, this President is one of the most pro-military centrists you've seen in decades. His work with the American Legion, ROTC…"

"He re-opened the naval base in my district, you don't have to convince me," Aaron Bicknell responded.

"I'm glad I don't, because that cost him pretty dearly in the campaign, and it was difficult enough being the independent in a three-way race."

"But that doesn't explain why he insists on demonizing us as a group."

"Because your group has plenty of demons."

"_Every_ group has plenty of demons."

"You don't need to remind me, Major, I'm a member of the Democratic party." Both men cracked up at that one-liner, but quickly regained their composure.

"You know, I'm still trying to figure out how that ensemble you put together got into the White House. You guys are all over the political spectrum, and that's just within the building."

"All over the spectrum, yes, but not all over the map. Virtually everyone of importance in this administration has known each other since at least our junior year of high school. We all have our differences, but we put them aside years ago for the greater good. Rocky happens to be one of the more conservative ones in our group, which means he keeps me in check every so often, but he also has a tendency to shoot his mouth off at inopportune times. We used to just keep him around for the comic relief, but you'd be surprised how often he comes up with the brilliant idea we need."

"That's fine, but why does he have to paint all of us ex-military folks with the same brush?"

"Forgive me, Aaron, but when you stand that close to Todd Roberts and Ann Fischer, it's sometimes hard not to paint you all with the same brush."

"I need Todd and Ann for political muscle."

"I don't think you do, but I realize you're in a tight spot."

"I'm not looking to start a crusade here."

"I know you're not, and that's why I think you and I can be the voices of reason here, and keep this under control so this doesn't escalate beyond a guy's ego getting taken down a peg."

"See, there you go again."

"What?"

"It was not a little deal. I want to make sure, if nothing else, that you take me seriously!"

At this, Billy stopped dead in his tracks, removed his glasses, and stared the Congressman straight in the eyes. "You don't think we're taking this seriously? Eighteen hours ago, the President ordered me to fire Rocky DeSantos. I've been trying to talk him off the ledge ever since. He's getting off the plane in twenty minutes and I might have to flip a coin so as to determine whether Rocky still has a job. I don't know how much more seriously we can take this."

"Well, that's regrettable."

"Yes, it is." Moving forward again, he continued. "Anyway, I'm glad Adam arranged your meeting this afternoon."

"I am, too." They walked on down the Mall, heading in the direction of Pennsylvania Avenue.

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2:00 p.m., Cassidy's apartment

Tommy came to with what seemed to be the most splitting headache he had ever experienced in his entire life. It only got worse when he remembered where he was: in the living room of a former student, where last night, they had…well, let's just say that if this had happened back at Reefside High, he would have been fired, and subsequently arrested. Assuming he didn't kill himself first. "Cassidy, I—I don't know what to say. Several apologies are probably in order, but…"

"Easy, there. You landed pretty hard," she told him, extending one hand out to help him up, while the other held a bottle of aspirin. A glass of water was already sitting on the coffee table. "You probably want an explanation as to what I'm doing here. As you remember, I had been doing a pretty decent job with the local stations in Reefside. But I couldn't help but feel like, with you and the other Rangers going into retirement, there was nothing left to cover. So, I took the show on the road. Devin didn't want to come with me, though. Some fake spiel about being comfortable as a medium-sized fish in a small pond. Oh, well. We all knew the two of us wouldn't work together forever. So I packed up my audition tape and my suitcases and headed up the coast to San Francisco. You can imagine how well that turned out."

"Let's see, three months experience, no college education. I'm guessing not very well."

"Bingo. So, I found a JC that would take me and got involved in the journalism department there. They stuck me on the sports beat for some reason."

"So how did you get to Washington?" Tommy asked her, then swallowed two pills during her answer.

"One word: BALCO. That investigation was still going strong and the school wanted someone to follow the Congressional hearings. So, I got to head out to DC and sat in the balcony of the House of Representatives while the nation heard Sammy Sosa forget how to speak English, and all those other baseball guys offered up their lame excuses. I wrote what I thought, what I saw, and won a few awards for it. After that, I had about a half-dozen schools that expressed an interest in my attendance. And after that first taste of Washington in action, how could I stay away? So, I transferred to Georgetown."

"Then, why do you do—what it is that you do?"

"The scholarships don't even cover tuition. A girl's got to eat…and find somewhere to live. And since my parents weren't that thrilled with me running off on my own after high school…"

"They cut you off."

"Exactly. And, while we're at it, let's face it: 'Cassidy' isn't a name that's stirs up a lot of credibility—unless I'm in Bolivia and in a Western. Hence 'Casey.'"

"So—I can't believe I didn't recognize you. I am so sorry, you wouldn't believe…"

"I think I can, actually. And don't worry. This whole thing is our little secret."

"Really? 'Cause there are a lot of people who would pay good money to find out about something like this."

"How much?"

"Cass…"

"I'm just kidding. Geez! Can't a girl have a sense of humor?"

"Fair enough. Say, when you graduate, we might have a job opening or two in the press office. I could at least be a reference for you or something."

"Probably not, Doctor Oliver. From what I've heard, you and the Press Secretary used to be an item. That would just be too awkward for my taste. I might take you up on the reference thing, though."

"All right. Just let me know beforehand. And one other thing: I'm not your teacher anymore. You can call me Tommy."

"Okay, Tommy. Well, I'm guessing you've got to get back to work, and I've got a class at 3:00. You know where to reach me."

"That I do. Thanks, Cassidy—for everything." Feeling surprisingly better, he headed back out the door, and back to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.

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2:45 p.m., the corridors of the West Wing

Adam was pacing in front of his office, trying to hash out some ideas for the President's remarks for the NEA meeting next week when Whitny came around to remind him about the tour Tommy had dumped in his lap. "The students and a couple of chaperones are waiting in the Roosevelt Room."

"What exactly am I supposed to do?"

"You're supposed to tell them about the building and its history. Do you need anything?"

"Yes. I need someone to tell me about the building and its history."

"Good luck," Whitny told him, heading back to her desk, still wondering where on earth Tommy had disappeared to.

Before Adam could think to stop her, Aisha came walking by, informing Adam that Rocky would be at the meeting a few minutes late. It seems that the Deputy Chief of Staff inexplicably had two hours of free time before the meeting and she had ordered him home to change his clothes. Just as quickly, she had disappeared, leaving Adam bewildered as to what had just happened, but also without two more people he could ask to bail him out. So, he decided to tough it out and went into the Roosevelt Room, to make a fool of himself in front of a group of fifteen year-olds.

Walking up to the teacher, Adam extended his hand. "Hi, Adam Park. How are you, Ms…"

"Mitchell," responded the bespectacled blond. "And these are my civics students from McKinley High School, who won the American History part of the DC Academic Decathlon last May, which earned them this trip here."

"Great." With that, Adam started to address the teenagers sitting around the room. "My name is Adam Park, and I am the Communications Director here at the White House. What does that mean, exactly? Well, to begin with, I'm a counselor to the President, on virtually any policy—domestic, foreign, security, anything. I work in tandem with my deputy, Thomas Oliver and the Press Secretary, Katherine Hilliard on crafting our message and getting it out to you through mass media. If you've ever heard the President make a speech on television, odds are that either Tom or I wrote what he's saying. We are not bound to any political party, but even if we were, while you and your parents may love us or want our guts roasted on a stick, your tax dollars pay our salaries, so I work for you, whether you voted for us or not." This speech was greeted with dead silence. Forget a pin, you could have heard a feather drop. So Ms. Mitchell broke the silence with a question.

"Mr. Park. Perhaps you could give us some history."

"Sure. I grew up in Stone Canyon, California, and spent my teenage years in nearby Angel Grove, where I met…"

"Actually, Mr. Park, I was wondering if you could share with us the history of the _building_."

"The White House?"

"Yes."

"Sure! The White House, as you know, was built many years ago, mostly, if I'm not mistaken, out of cement. The room we're in right now—the Roosevelt Room—is very famous. It was named after our—18th President, Franklin Delano Roosevelt. The chairs that you are sitting in today are fashioned from the wreckage of a pirate ship, which was captured during the Spanish-American…." Ms. Mitchell had had enough and slammed her hands down on the table.

"All right. Ladies and gentlemen, will you excuse Mr. Park and myself for a minute. I need to have a word with him," Ms. Mitchell instructed the class, motioning Adam out into the hallway.

Once they were outside and out of earshot, the teacher let him have it. "Okay. Forgive me for being rude, but just how big of an idiot are you!"

"In this area, a pretty big one."

"The 18th President was Ulysses Grant, whose real first name was Hiram, and the Roosevelt Room was named after Theodore."

"Really?"

"There's, like, a six-foot picture _on the wall_ of Teddy Roosevelt."

"I should have figured that out."

"Yeah, you should've."

"The thing is, while there are a great many things I can speak about with authority, the White House is not one of them."

"And yet, you work there."

"Even Alanis Morissette would find that ironic, don't you think?"

"I don't believe this."

"Please wait. Could you tell me which one of those kids is Bill Cranston's cousin?"

"Why?"

"Well, because if I could make eye contact, make her laugh, you know, just see that she's having a good time, it might go a long way to making my life easier."

"I've got to tell you, right now, I'm not inclined to do that."

"Ma'am, I understand your feelings, but please believe me when I tell you that I'm a nice guy having a bad day. I just read a poll that says that a significant portion of the American public believes that this White House has lost focus and direction, a problem not likely to be alleviated by the image of the President running his leg through a wall. As we speak, the Coast Guard is fishing Cubans out of the water off the Florida Keys, while the governor wants to blockade the port of Miami, my deputy has gone AWOL for the past two hours and my best friend is about to be fired for going on television and making sense. Now, would you please, in the interest of compassion, tell me which of those kids is my boss's cousin?"

"That would be me."

"You," Adam asked incredulously, the last name starting to click thing into place as he recalled an old conversation with Tommy regarding the "Great Red Ranger Team-up of '02".

"Me."

_Now, the name rings a bell._ "Dana?"

"For once today, Adam, you're right."

"Boy. Talk about a small world. Did I screw this up or what?"

"Don't bother clarifying what 'what' would be, because I'll go with you screwed up."

"Yeah, but—civics?"

"Long-story short: it's not that big of a school. They couldn't afford to hire me as just a nurse."

"Fair enough. Again, I'm sorry about that."

"An honest mistake. Could have happened to anyone. Care to try this again?"

"As long as I can talk to them about _anything_ else."

"Fair enough." With that, the two walked back into the room.

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Author's extended apology: Yeah, I thought that would turn some heads. Remember, we're a few years in the future, so nothing illegal took place; it's just weird. In my first draft, Tommy's one night stand was with Kim, but part of me said to myself, "Self, that would create too many problems to solve without a Deus ex machina. (for any younger readers who, by some miracle, are still reading, 'Deus ex machina' is a Latin phrase, translated "God or ghost in the machine", and is a cheap, over-simplified plot device used by authors who have run out of ideas on how to resolve their own story.) There's got to be a better way to involve her." To wit, Kim probably will not be making an appearance in this first episode, though I reserve the right to throw her in at any moment I see fit. I'm not really good at romantic relationships (either writing them or in real life) so I'm keeping those to a minimum. Sorry about that. As for Dana being Billy's cousin, I was running through the PR fanfic Smithsonian that is Paladar and noticed that, since Billy's last name was never actually mentioned on the show, Cranston was just sort of assigned to him (rumor has it that it _is_ what was listed on the character bio back at Saban HQ), but not before dozens of writers gave him other last names. Mitchell was one of the more common of these alternatives. So I thought this would be a good way to honor the history of our genre. I'm almost done with the end of this episode. If you haven't guessed who I've made the President by now—well, tough luck. Unlike on the West Wing, it shouldn't come as a surprise. Okay. (the writer has now donned a flame-retardant suit, a la IRL drivers) Do your worst.


	6. What Kind of Day Has It Been?

Variation on the standard Disclaimer: Good evening, from Los Angeles, I am _not_ Dan Rydell, nor am I Casey McCall. If you've heard it once, you've heard it a million times: the Power Rangers are the property of Haim Saban, Disney, and whoever else may or may not be in charge of them now. Portions of the plot (and some dialogue) are straight out of The West Wing, which was created by Aaron Sorkin.) And with that, you're watching WWPR on CSC, so stick around!

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4:15 p.m., Mural Room

"Mr. Bicknell, if you will all wait in here, Mr. Park and Mr. DeSantos will be here in just a few moments," an unknown staffer instructed the three congressmen. It was almost game time.

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4:25 p.m., Adam's office

"You understand he's going to try to bait you, right?" Kat asked Rocky as the two of them, accompanied by Adam, left the speechwriting offices and headed for the Mural Room.

"For the last time, yes" Rocky told her. "That's only the tenth time you've reminded me of that in the last half-hour."

"Just smile, apologize, and then let me do the talking," Adam admonished him.

"That would be a first," Rocky pointed out. Adam had become much more outspoken over time, a far cry from his reticent teenage years. Whenever one of his friends would point this out, he would simply inform them that, as a guy who writes what other people say for a living, he had simply started thinking out loud more, needing to hear how his ideas sounded.

Before Adam could remind Rocky of this point for the hundredth time, they had reached the room, with to find Billy and Tommy already waiting inside with three very somber-looking members of the U.S. House of Representatives.

"Adam, Rocky, Kat, I believe you know Aaron Bicknell, Sgt. Todd Roberts and Dr. Ann Fischer," Billy asked the trio, wanting to dispose of the introductions so the six of them could get to the reason they were all gathered here.

"Yes, we have," Adam informed his boss, then turned to shake Roberts' hand. "Thank you all for coming."

"Our pleasure," Roberts said back as the six took their seats on the pair of sofas facing each other in the center of the room. Billy and Tommy, not having a role to play in the discussion, drifted back against the wall off to the side and availed themselves of the refreshments that had been set out.

"Before we begin, I would like to say something," Aaron said. "While the armed forces of this country tend to have a love-hate relationship with the citizens they defend, they are at least treated by most Americans with the respect their job, if not they themselves, deserve. Now, yesterday on the television program _Washington Weekly_, the outspoken opposition to that standard was given a voice, and a face, and a name."

"Which brings up our first issue, and thank you for doing so, Aaron," Rocky interjected.

"I'm surprised at you, Rocky. I've always considered you a friend."

"And I'm honored by that, sir." Rocky plunged ahead, figuring it was now or never. "Congressman Roberts, let me first say that when I said what I said, I was not speaking for the President, nor for any other member of the administration. Second, I apologize. I was going for the cheap laugh, looking to score a few points, and anyone willing to come out and debate ideas deserves more than a political punch line. So, again, sir, I apologize."

Congressman Roberts just sat there, like a statue, not moving, not speaking. It took a few seconds for everyone to make sure he was even breathing. He finally broke his silence, but not in the way anyone in the room was hoping. "Good, then." With that, he turned to Adam. "Let's deal."

"Excuse me?" Adam asked to anyone within earshot.

"What do we get?"

"For what?"

"For your guy insulting millions of Americans."

"Well, like Rocky said…"

"I heard what Rocky said, Adam. I want to know what we get."

Adam looked dumbfounded for a second, but responded calmly. "An apology."

"I think we'll need a little more than that. I've got an intelligence bill that could use an endorsement from you guys."

"Well, that's a problem."

"And why is that?"

"Because I've seen this bill, and it makes the Patriot Act look like a phone survey."

"We've got a war on terror to fight, as well as a role as the moral leader of the world."

"There's a catch to being a moral leader; you have to exercise morality to do it."

"Adam," Kat admonished him with a single word, urging him to keep his cool.

"That's the offer on the table, so what's it going to be?" Roberts summed up.

"We're not prepared to make any sort of deal at this point," Adam told the congressman.

"Sure we are," Rocky pleaded, desperate to resolve the situation. "Todd…"

"Rocky, my understanding of the situation is that you're cleaning out your desk at the end of the day, so I'd just as soon negotiate with Adam if it's all the same with you."

"Todd…" Aaron tried to reign in his fellow congressman, but to no avail.

"Let me _work_, please. You always had this coming, Rocky. That smug smile, the New York sense of humor…"

"Todd…" Aaron again tried to restrain the man from running his mouth off, but Adam's ears had already perked up at that comment, as he realized that the _honorable_ congressman had just committed an even greater screw-up than Rocky had. Rocky may have been of Hispanic ethnicity, but everyone remembered from that one holiday season back in Angel Grove that he also celebrated his Jewish heritage, and that had just been trampled on by a mere aside. The only question was whether Rocky noticed.

"I was actually born in Los Angeles, but that's beside the…" Clearly he hadn't, so Adam decided to bring it to his attention.

"He meant Jewish." Again, you could have heard a feather drop. And in Billy's case, the glass he was holding did drop, shattering on the floor. A steward quickly ran off to get a broom and dustpan to clean up the mess, as the conversation in the center of the room started up again. "When he said, New York sense of humor, he meant Jewish."

"You know what, Adam, let's not even go there," Rocky told his longtime friend, wanting more than anything else for this meeting to get back on track.

"There's been an apology," Aaron said, thinking along the same lines as Rocky. "Let's move on."

"I'd like to know," started Dr. Bicknell, who had remained silent through the whole meeting until now, "why you guys spend so much time defending the First Amendment, but nothing on the First Commandment."

"I don't like what I've been accused of," Roberts fumed.

"Well, hard luck," Adam blurted out.

"The First Commandment says, 'Honor thy Father…'"

"No, it doesn't."

"Adam…" Rocky tried to intervene, while Aaron rolled his eyes toward the heavens, also recognizing Fischer's theological error.

"It _doesn't_!"

"Listen…"

"No! If I'm going to make you sit through this preposterous exercise, we're going to get the names of the damn commandments right!"

"Okay, here we go," Roberts muttered, mentally preparing for battle.

Turning back toward the congressional delegation, Adam verbally lashed out at them. "'Honor thy father and mother' is the Fifth Commandment!"

"Then what is the First Commandment?" Fischer demanded. The response came, not from Adam, but from a voice that thundered into the room and caused everyone inside to stare in the direction of the speaker.

'"I AM the Lord your God. Thou shalt have no other gods before Me.' Boy, those were the days," uttered the voice of President Jason Lee Scott at he hobbled into the room on crutches.

"Mr. President," Mr. Bicknell and Rocky were the first ones to regain their senses and quickly stood up. The rest of the room followed suit.

"Aaron, Rocky," Jason greeted the two of them, shaking their hands in succession. "What do we have here, Kat?"

"A roomful of hot tempers, Mr. President," she responded.

"Todd," Jason continued, working his way down the line.

"Ann Fischer," the congresswoman introduced herself. "And I have a question."

"Of course."

"If a terrorist attack were to occur because of our country twiddled its collective thumbs arguing over alternative solutions, isn't that too high a price to pay for free speech?"

"I don't think so. Theodore Roosevelt once said, 'To announce that there must be no criticism of the President, right or wrong, is not only unpatriotic and servile, but is morally treasonable to the American public.' Admittedly, he may have said that after Wilson had moved in and was expressing his resentment of the man, but, there you go." Turning to one of the stewards in the room, the President asked him to pour a cup of coffee for him. He then turned back to Dr. Fischer and asked her about her title. "Dr. Fischer?"

"Yes."

"Are you, by any chance, a medical doctor?"

"No, sir, I have a Ph. D."

"Ah. Too bad, because I could probably use a third opinion on the sprained ankle. Tell me, is this degree in Psychology?"

"No."

"Theology?"

"No, sir."

"Social work?"

"I have a Ph. D. in English Lit.erature."

"Really?"

"Really.

"Okay, because I've heard you go out there on television and occasionally on radio call-in shows, and was wondering if your listeners were confused and assumed that when you called yourself "doctor" you had advanced training in psychology, theology or health care."

"I don't believe they do."

"I mention this because you spend a decent part of that time on those shows grandstanding like Archie Bunker against anything that makes you uncomfortable, from whether the government has abused its power, which I would agree with you on from time to time, to the always touchy issue of gay rights, which you've said you consider an abomination."

"I don't consider it an abomination, Mr. President, the Bible does."

"Yes, it does. Levitiicus"

"22:18."

"Chapter and verse. The only problem I have with that is that my brother-in-law, Kevin, came out a couple years ago and had been living in relative anonymity, which is a remarkable achievement given who his sister is married to. But he has always preferred, for obvious reasons, to stay out of the limelight and so I've always respected that. But last night, my wife, Kim, was crying almost uncontrollably last night when I got to the hotel room. When I asked her why, she said it had to do with a phone call she got from Kevin's boyfriend, telling us been found in a dumpster, beaten, with a slur I'd rather not repeat freshly spray-painted across the lid. I lost my temper and went down to the exercise room to try to vent, and the free world knows the rest. Now, I've read my Bible from cover to cover, so would you mind telling me what part of Scripture Kevin's attackers drew their inspiration from when they assaulted a defenseless man in an alley?"

The congresswoman was speechless at this revelation, so Jason hammered home the point. "Until you can answer that question, you can all, as Billy here would say, 'extricate your gluteus maximii' from of my White House. Katherine, would you show these people out?"

As Jason headed for the door that led to _his_ office and everyone else started to gather up their things, Mr. Roberts muttered under his breath, "I think we can find our own way out."

"See that you do," Jason snapped back. When one is in the home of the President, one usually does not get to have the last word.

Aaron, who seemed to be the only person in the room who hadn't stuck his foot in his mouth yet that day, tried to offer some assurance to the staffers on his way out. "We'll fix this, Bill."

"See that you do," was the genius's stern reply. With that, the congressmen and Billy all left the room, leaving four former rangers trying to sort out what had just happened.

Rocky spoke first, choosing, as was his wont, to break the silence with a one-liner. "Okay, can I just say that, as it turned out, I was the calmest person in the room?"

"I am not empowered to auction off the Bill of Rights!" Adam exclaimed.

Rocky was on a roll, redirecting his fire. "Yeah, and you, Kat, were particularly impressive. I especially liked the part where you said nothing at all."

"I'm sorry," Kat told him, "but I was busy glancing over at the good Doctor here and trying to figure out where he's been for the last three hours!"

"Trust me, you don't want to know," was all Tommy was willing to say on the matter.

"So what happened to those missiles we were supposed to be talking about?" Rocky asked Adam.

"Don't know, I mean, they changed the subject, and once religion entered the debate, the thing got as formulaic as a Britney Spears song."

This conversation/argument continued as the foursome wandered down the hall and into the Oval Office. They probably hadn't even realized where they were, until Jason interrupted them. "Welcome home, Mr. President. How was the trip, sit? How's the ankle, sir?"

With the room silent and all attention on the guy standing behind the desk, Jason continued. "Seems to me we've all been on a break. Taking time to think about our personal lives (he was glancing at Tommy as he said this part, then turned to Rocky), or thinking about keeping our jobs. Breaks are good. Lord knows with as much as we've been through over the last fifteen years, we could all use a break or three."

Billy came in, just then, holding a note that he gave to Jason. "Thanks, bro." Jason looked over the note, then informed the rest of the room of the contents thereof. "Naval intelligence reports that approximately 1,200 Cubans left Havana this morning. About 700 of them turned back due to severe weather. Roughly 350 are missing, and presumed dead. 137 have been taken into custody in Miami and are seeking asylum. 'With the clothes on their back, they came through the storm,' and the ones who survived want a better life and they want it here. Pretty impressive, if you ask me. My point is this: break's over."

"Thank you, Mr. President," Billy said, and the rest of the ex-Rangers quickly followed suit. As they filed out of the Oval into Billy's office, Rocky was the last one to leave, but Jason stopped him before he got to the door.

"Just don't let it happen again," Jason told the man he had passed on his first legacy to.

"Yes, sir." Rocky responded, then left the way the rest of them had

Jason just stood there in front of his desk for a second, heeding his own advice about breaks. Then, he turned to the other door and spoke to his secretary, whom Tommy had recommended to him a while back. "Miss Viktor," he called, as Hayley walked into the room, "what's next?"

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Well, that's the end of episode one. As Sorkin himself claimed, each episode of The West Wing was a four-act play. I broke up the first couple acts in an effort to get something out there. And I apologize if I drifted a little too far to the left for some folks' taste there in the middle. But individual freedoms are something I'm pretty passionate about. I'm not sure how quickly I can do another one of these, since school's starting up in another week, plus I've got a gig singing in a small opera company. Any fans of WW who have requests for storylines they'd like to see redone are encouraged to send me a message. Thanks for tuning in!


	7. The Believer's Voice of Victory

Mr. Fedrigotti's take on the Disclaimer: Good evening, from Los Angeles, I am _not_ Dan Rydell, nor am I Casey McCall. The Rangers and all their related characters are the property of Saban, Jetix, Disney, et al. Portions of the plot and dialogue are property of Aaron Sorkin. The following is a drabble-length teaser for the second episode in the series. With that, you're watching WWPR on CSC, so stick around!

WWPR: Power Rangers West Wing

Episode 2: A Proportional Response

Prologue: The Believer's Voice of Victory

Monday, 8:30 a.m., a Starbucks on Constitution Avenue

Aaron Bicknell was attempting to console his political strategist after explaining to her why he was calling off the reason he had hired her: to build his profile for a possible presidential run three years hence. It was a decision that he had arrived at after a meeting with Rocky DeSantos, one of President Scott's higher-ranking staffers. "Look, you knew coming in that this was a longshot possibility at best. Maybe someday, but not this time."

The woman, who had performed a similar role for the Scott campaign, was on the verge of tears, as she had been for several minutes. "You know what the worst part of this is: it's the party they're having in the West Wing right now over this."

"They're not celebrating over something this trivial."

"You don't know these people like I do. I worked alongside them for a year. They may not enjoy winning as much as me, but they will hold a ticker-tape parade at the drop of a hat."

"The people who work in the White House are serious people with good intentions. This is not a cause for having a party."

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That same moment, Rocky's office

"Victory is mine, victory is mine! Where's the Gatorade bath, people? I said, victory is mine!" Rocky shouted as he strutted out of his office door.

"Could you say that a little louder, Rock? I think a few people back in Angel Grove didn't hear you," Aisha asked him.

"Come on, 'Sha. Mission accomplished! Today I drink from the keg of glory. Bring me the finest muffins and bagels in all the land! And a mango smoothie while you're at it."

"There will be no living with him today," Aisha muttered to herself as Rocky stood up on her chair and beat his chest in the manner of his ancient Ninjetti spirit in full view of all who were in the area.

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Author's note: The "teaser" that ran at the start of each episode of The West Wing was typically a 2-3 minute scene, just to set the tone for the episode, set up a joke for later, or sometimes just to be funny, as is the case here. Be warned, we will go a bit darker in this episode than the pilot was. The basic set-up for the next 4 chapters: Jason's first action as Commander-in-Chief has everyone on edge, especially when it seems personal.


	8. Direction, Determination and Disaster

Disclaimer: Good evening, from Los Angeles, I am _not_ Dan Rydell, nor am I Casey McCall. You know the drill by now. Saban, Jetix, Disney and their subsidiaries own the Power Rangers and all characters contained therein, not I. Aaron Sorkin is the creator of West Wing, from which I have liberally (pardon the pun) borrowed dialogue and based portions of the plot on. WARNING: this chapter includes a character death, which, frankly had to happen so the next three chapters will make sense. And with that, you're watching WWPR on CSC, so stick around.

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Monday, 11:30 a.m., Oval Office

President Jason Scott was in the process of getting a routine check-up that, being the President, was anything but routine. It was an afterthought, having been added onto his schedule as a way to get an additional opinion on the state of his healing ankle. But the doctor was an old friend with whom most of the staff was intimately familiar.

"What's in Jordan?" Jason asked the familiar face who was taking his blood pressure.

"Amman" was the dry reply of Dr. Trini Kwan, who had flown in specifically for the task at hand.

"You should stay here with the gang. We've got Amman, a woman, a few kids, the works."

"125 over 90."

"See, that was a joke."

"Yes, it was."

"Yeah, and I knew that you knew that because you didn't laugh at all."

"That's because it wasn't funny," Trini said as she looked at her watch while holding the President's wrist.

"Everybody's a critic today. So what's in Amman?"

"A teaching hospital. I'll be there for a week. Some seminar on pulmonary embolisms."

"Good for you. When do you leave?"

"Two hours."

"So how's the pulse looking?"

"Have you been running up and down the bleachers in the Rose Bowl in the last few minutes?"

"No."

"Then, by your standards, not good. When you can run again, you might want to start spending more time jogging and less time breaking boards with your heel."

"Fair enough."

"Cut back on the dairy?"

"Okay."

"How about booze?"

"Why not. Jack Daniels on the rocks, Hayley!" he called out into the hall, knowing no one would take it seriously.

"Okay, now _that_ was funny" Trini told him as she reached back into her bag for an instrument everyone who has ever been in a doctor's office dreads.

"You know, I never said anything all these years, but I've always been curious. How'd you get the name Trini?"

"It's short for Trinity, a word which my mother first heard in a church in San Diego on her first Sunday in the U.S. after fleeing Vietnam."

"That name's got a pretty good story to tell, then."

"How'd your parents decide on Jason?"

"They named me after some actor on a soap ope---OWW!" he yelped, suddenly clutching his right arm. "What the hell was that?"

"A flu shot, silly."

"I don't need a flu shot."

"Yes, you do."

"How do I know this isn't the start of some military coup?"

"Jason,"

"I want the Secret Service in here right away."

"Jason, what makes you think that, in the event of a coup, the Secret Service would be on your side?"

Silence reigned in the Oval for a second before Jason uttered a reply. "Well, there's a thought that's gonna keep me up tonight."

"There you go" Trini told him as she patted a cotton swab over the spot she had just stuck Jason's arm in.

"You know, I'm not that comfortable with violence."

"What are you talking about, O Fearless Leader?"

"Don't get me wrong. I know that I was always quick to jump into action back in the day, but that was different. We always knew what we were fighting for, our enemies were anything but human and clearly evil to boot, and, call me crazy, but no matter how badly we would wreck the city during a battle, Angel Grove was always back to normal, or as normal as it got, in a matter of days."

"You're not crazy, the city was always placed exactly as it was before. Even that bizarre candy-cane looking chimney in the harbor district that the Dragonzord would chow down on every time it went evil."

"That's just it. I know we have to leave that fighting to the Rangers that exist today, because they have the giant robots and space-age weaponry while we have our own battles to deal with. I know that as a country we have enemies. But they're human enemies. People who, for the most part, on some level, still have some good in them. How do you deal with that?"

"When the time comes, you'll know what to do. And if you don't, that's why you have Billy and the Chiefs."

"Fair enough, though I don't think some of the Chiefs will respect that."

"They're all aware of your history, and in some cases in awe of your legacy, so you have their respect, and you'll earn their trust pretty quickly. In the meantime, you outrank them, so don't worry about it too much. And cut back on the dairy."

"And the scotch."

"Right. Have a good day, Mr. President."

"See you in two weeks, Trini."

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Monday, 1:20 p.m., West Wing corridors

"Hey, Rocky!" Aisha called to her boss and lifelong friend as he passed her desk on his way back from lunch.

"What do you need?"

"You owe me $100."

"May I ask for what?"

"I entered you in a college football pool."

"Without telling me?"

"It was kind of a surprise."

"How'd I do?"

"You lost $100 dollars."

"On who?"

"Carroll College."

"Carroll College?"

"The Fighting Saints."

"What was the line?"

"It wasn't that kind of pool."

"What kind of pool was it?"

"You just pick the winner."

"And who were they playing?"

"Florida State."

"You picked Carroll College to _beat_ Florida State?"

"Well, technically you did."

"Well, next time, can you give me Blue Mountain Academy over the Pittsburgh Steelers?"

"If you're not going to take this seriously…"

"How can I take this seriously?" As he was opening up his wallet, he spied Adam coming around the corner. "You know what, forget it. I need to get back to actual work. Adam!"

"Well, we think a statement from the UN's the least they can do" an unknown advisor was telling Adam.

"Actually, the UN's _already_ doing the least they can do" Adam fired back. "God, most administrations only have to deal with one opposition party. We've got three, one of which is ourselves! Rocky, go ahead."

"Did you hear about the VP's quote on the CR Bill?"

"Yeah, so?"

"'This is a time when the President needs our support?' What kind of half-assed support is that?"

"I agree the line needs work."

"Are we doing anything about it?"

"Billy told Kat to talk it over with the VP, smooth over anything that may have come up over this."

"Good. Anything else."

"I think that's it for now."

"Wow. This is unprecedented. We have nothing to do."

"Correction. You have nothing to do. I have a couple of speeches to write, so Tommy and I will be holed up in my office the rest of the day. So if you need anything…"

"Gotcha." With that, the two men split and headed back to their respective offices.

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Tuesday, 1:40 a.m., Roosevelt Room

Even in the middle of the night, there is a lot of activity that goes on inside 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. Unfortunately, the reason for this particular gathering was a terribly somber one. Billy, Adam, Tommy, Rocky, and about a dozen military personnel were gathered, while President Scott was walking from the Residence toward the Oval Office.

"How long until the carriers are in position?" Billy inquired of one of the men in uniform.

"About two hours" came the reply.

A Secret Service agent came up to Billy, informing him that the President was waiting for him in the Oval. "Excuse me, gentlemen."

"You need any of us, Billy?" Tommy asked the Chief of Staff.

"No," he replied, half-heartedly trying to keep his emotions in check. "We will need all of you eventually, but I have to tell him myself."

Billy crossed the twenty feet from the Roosevelt Room to the Oval Office, where he was greeted by his best friend, who was leaning against his desk, stoically waiting for whatever news Billy was about to give him, knowing only that, at this ungodly hour, it wouldn't be good.

"Jase," Billy started, trying desperately to hold back tears, "there's no easy way to say this."

"What happened?"

"It's Trini. She's dead."

Jason stood there, hands folded, not blinking, as if in shock. Billy decided he had to say everything at once, or he was never going to finish. "An Air Force transport carrying her, seven other doctors, a support staff of 34 and three others to a teaching hospital in Amman, blew up in mid-air about 40 miles north of Riyadh. What was first thought to be a mechanical failure was then claimed by a fundamentalist group, after our first satellite photos indicated that it was shot down using a shoulder-mounted surface-to-air missile launcher. But that's been debunked as well. Hard intelligence is telling us that the order came through the Syrian Defense Ministry. Matlock is coming over from the Pentagon, and Admiral Hammond is in the Situation room preparing for your briefing."

Jason stood there, absorbing all that had just been told to him. His eyes welling up, he turned to Billy finally and asked him a question. "What time is it?"

"10:52 in Damascus, sir."

"Where's the Syrian ambassador?"

"Syria's considered a rogue state, so we don't actually have one."

"I meant Syria's ambassador to us."

"At the embassy, awaiting your call, sir."

"Okay,—I'm—going to call Trini's parents now. Someone should let them know what happened. I'll meet you in the situation room."

"Yes, sir. Just know that we're all here when you're ready to talk, because we'll all need to work together on this one." Billy headed to the door.

"Bro," Jason stopped him. Billy turned around, and was shocked to find Jason's eyes wiped clean, and looking almost possessed, though he knew from experience that there was nothing magical behind this appearance. Still, it was a bit disturbing.

"Yes, Jase?"

"I'm not afraid. I'm going to blow them off the face of the earth with the fury of God's own thunder. They're going to wish we sicced the Ultrazord on them."

Billy couldn't muster a response to that. He just stood there, his mouth hanging slightly open in stunned silence.

"Get the commanders" Jason ordered him.

Billy walked out of the room, while Jason paced around to the other side of his desk, sat down, and dialed a number to begin the most difficult conversation he could ever recall having.

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Hey, how's everybody doing? A few notes: Carroll College and Blue Mountain Academy are actual schools. BMA is a private high school in central Pennsylvania, and Carroll College is an NAIA football powerhouse in Helena, Montana. So, them getting killed by FSU might be a little far-fetched, but I'm still mad over them beating my alma mater 3 times in the last two years, outscoring us 53-10 in the process. But, I digress. And I also wanted to deal with Trini's death since today, 9/3, is the anniversary of the death of Thuy Trang, the actress who brought her into our homes for the first 80-or-so episodes of MMPR. Rest in peace, Ms. Trang. Your spirit lives on in the fans of your work.


	9. This is what we do?

Variation on the Standard Disclaimer: Good evening, from Los Angeles, I am _not_ Dan Rydell, nor am I Casey McCall. The Power Rangers and all their subsidiaries are owned by Saban, Disney, Jetix, et al. "The West Wing" was created by Aaron Sorkin. All unfamiliar names are borrowed from my real-life friends. (I just throw their first names in one hat, their last names in another, and draw them at random.) Without further ado, you're watching WWPR on CSC, so stick around!

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Wednesday, 7:30 a.m., West Wing corridors

Kat Hilliard shook the rain from her umbrella as she stood in the lobby. Having spent her formative years split between the Mediterranean-esque climates of New South Wales and Southern California (side note: no one knows for sure where AG was supposed to be, but I'm guessing Santa Barbara), the idea of rain in late summer was a foreign concept. Yet it seemed to fit the somber mood that virtually everyone in the building had fallen into over the past two days. Sure, she hadn't known Trini except through what she had been told by the others, but still, she had been one of them. And right now, this tragedy was eating away at the psyche of every one of her friends, even those who barely come on the scene when she had left.

The biggest problem on that front was that the President had almost gone schizophrenic in the 30-some-odd hours since the attack that had claimed the life of the original Yellow Ranger. He would either be emotionally withdrawn, just kind of going through the motions, or lashing out at anyone and anything within earshot, sometimes switching between the two in the space of the same sentence. Billy and Tommy were doing all that they could to make sure that the two of them were taking the brunt of the tongue-lashings, but they couldn't keep their guards up 24/7. At the moment, however, there was nothing that could be done about that. Right now, there was the morning staff meeting to deal with. Speaking of the staff, Adam was walking past security at that moment, so she walked over to speak with him on their way to the Chief of Staff's office.

"So, how did last night go?" she inquired, knowing that Adam had spent the evening meeting with the President and some of his military advisors.

"The longest meeting of my life. The President was running in and out of the room every five minutes so he could scream at Matlock and some other guy from State, telling them to get their acts together."

"Really?"

"Not in those exact words."

"Should've known, sorry."

"Don't be. He's scaring the daylights out of Hammond, which, since it doesn't involve his sister, I didn't think was possible. He's snapping at the First Lady, he's talking about nuking Tripoli, Tehran and everything in between…"

"Crikey! That's a little extreme."

"You think!"

"Alright, don't you go flying off the deep end, too. We've got to find a way to talk him off the ledge."

"Yeah, and the sooner the better."

"What did we do wrong to deserve this?"

"Today? All you had to do was get out of bed."

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7:35 a.m., Oval Office

"This is a load of BS, Bill, and you know it!"

"Sir…" Billy started to respond, but President Scott would have none of it.

"I have had it up to here with Hammond and the rest of the suits down there dragging their feet!"

"Jason, it takes time to plan out a response scenario. They're not dragging their feet."

"It's been 36 hours since they blew her out of the sky, Bill. Enough waiting. We are going to come up with a plan today. We are going to strike back _today_. Understand?"

"I wish you wouldn't say 'her', Jase."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"When it's just you and me or the senior staff, that's fine, but when we're down in the Sit Room with the chiefs or when you eventually go on television and explain this to the country, try to refer to it as 'it' or 'the aircraft', not 'her.'"

"You think I'm taking this personally?"

"No, sir. I know you're taking this personally."

"Damn straight. The better question is why aren't you?"

"Okay, now what are _you_ talking about?"

"Don't play games with me, Bro. We all know you two were glued at the hip back in high school. You were a couple in all but name. So how can you be so calm about this?"

"Because one of us has to be, and right now, it doesn't look like it's going to be you."

Jason stopped in his tracks at that remark, but opted not to respond to that. He had been rummaging through the messed-up stack of papers and reports that littered his desk through most of this conversation, looking for one thing that was not made of paper. Looking for an accessory that denoted one of the few ravages of time that had really befallen any of them over the years. But it was an accessory that was nowhere to be found, so he called out to his secretary, the only non-Ranger that had been intimately involved in the day-to-day operations of any of their teams. "Hayley! I can't find my reading glasses. Can you do whatever it is you do when they turn up missing?"

"I'll get a crew right on it, sir" she responded, then went back to her desk and hit a couple of buttons on her phone.

"Was there anything else, Billy?"

"No, sir. I've got the staff waiting in my office."

"Then I guess you'd better get going."

"Yes, sir" Billy said as he walked out of the Oval.

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7:50 a.m., Billy's Office

"Good morning," Billy greeted the somber gathering of staff in his office. Various half-hearted salutations were offered up in response.

"How's his mood?" Rocky asked.

"How's his _mood?_" Billy responded, wondering for a brief moment why teachers would always say there was no such thing as a stupid question. "Don't worry about it."

"Adam said…" Kat started to bring up her earlier conversation, but Billy interrupted before she could get into any details.

"And I said, don't worry about it." Tommy was the last one to arrive, coming through the door at that very moment, intently focused on the small stack of paper he held in his hands. "Okay, Tommy, what do you know?"

Tommy's attention snapped back to the Chief of Staff. "It's true."

"You have _got_ to be kidding me."

"Wish I was, but I'm holding the transcripts right here in my hands."

"A transcript of what?" Adam inquired.

"You're going to love this" Billy told him, his voice positively oozing with sarcasm.

"Congressman Lance Prather, appearing on a radio program in his home district…" Tommy began.

"Right" Rocky interrupted, for no apparent reason other than to imply that he was listening.

"Fifth District, Ward County, part of DeKalb…" Tommy continued, only to be interrupted by Billy.

"Where we just recommended decommissioning the _B-36Ds_ stationed there."

"Why did we do that, again?" Kat asked.

"Because they're cold war relics that were anachronistic in the 70s." Billy informed her. No one bothered to ask what "anachronistic" meant. Back in the day, they would have waited for a certain yellow-clad lady to explain it to them, but no one wanted to bring that up, so they all silently vowed to look it up when they got a moment.

"What did he say?" Rocky asked, desperate for the punch line by now.

Tommy continued reading the transcript in front of him. "Speaking on the air along with several officers from Caldwell Air Force Base, he said the following regarding the President's decision on the matter Billy just mentioned: 'Folks down here are patriotic, fiercely patriotic. The President better not be planning on making any visits to this base any time soon. If he does, he may not get out alive.'"

Adam had been listening to this in total silence, fuming all the while. Now he was ready to let them all have it. "He said that?"

"You believe it?" Billy asked rhetorically.

"Sitting with military officers?"

"Yeah."

"Don't take the bait," Rocky practically begged Adam, but Mr. Park would have none of it.

"You'd better believe I'm going to take the bait."

"Adam…" Rocky started up again, but wouldn't get a chance to say anything.

"There ought to be a law against it," Billy muttered barely loud enough for the rest of them to hear.

"There _is _a law against it!" Adam just about screamed.

"Why'd you get him started?" Rocky asked Billy, who merely shrugged his shoulders in response as Adam kept on his roll.

"How about threatening the life of the President? He was talking to other people. How about _conspiracy_? They were _military officers_. How about _treason_?"

"It's bad, I know," was the best Billy could come up with.

"That's it? That's all we're going to do?" Adam asked incredulously.

"Well, what would you do?" Billy asked him.

"Have them hauled in for questioning, pending felony charges!" Adam slammed home his point, only to have Rocky attempt to defuse the moment with another one-liner.

"Adam's right? What's the point of being in power if you can't drag your enemies in for questioning?" This bought Rocky a swift kick in the seat of his pants from Kat, who was sitting on the couch behind him, soaking the conversation in and trying to figure out how much of this—if any of it—could actually be mentioned in her next briefing.

"We're really going to do nothing about this." Adam asked to Billy, exasperated.

"Yes, Adam, because what we really need to do is arrest people for being mean to the President. John Adams tried that back in the day, it really didn't go over well. Lincoln did it, too, but there was a war on, so people didn't care as much."

"There is no law! There is no decency!" Adam continued.

"He's just figuring that out now," Rocky cracked another one.

"All right, listen up," Billy demanded, trying to bring some semblance of order back to the meeting. "In the event that an attack order is given today, we're going to need a half hour on the networks. Kat, when do they need to be told?"

"Ninety minutes in advance," the Aussie responded.

"Okay. Wait until the last possible moment. Adam, start working on a draft for the President's address."

"It would be nice to know what we're hitting," Adam sarcastically told him.

"You and me both, Adam."

"I'm not kidding, Billy."

"Neither am I. It's military, Adam. You'll know when you know."

Adam let out a long sigh, then turned to Tommy. "Tommy, coordinate with the State Department guy, and whoever his deputy is."

"I'm on it," came the former leader's swift reply.

"Let's get this done right," Billy told them as the meeting started to break up.

"Not much chance of that," Rocky quipped, heading out the door.

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8:15 a.m., West Wing corridors

As the staff meandered out from Billy's office and back to their respective ones, Adam and Tommy were discussing the speech they now had to put together.

"So how do we tell them what we know without telling them what we know?" Tommy asked Adam.

"Well, we don't really know anything yet, so that shouldn't be a problem." As Adam was saying this, they came to the turn that led to the communications bullpen, where Tommy and his offices were located. However, a little ways past that turn were two reporters waiting for a story. He decided to give them one. "Meet me back in my office. We'll start hashing out some ideas."

"Okay." Tommy split off down the hall, while Adam, still relatively full of righteous indignation, approached the members of the Fourth Estate, ostensibly to pour himself a cup of coffee.

"Hey, Adam," one of the reporters (Jackie from the first episode) started. "Did you hear about what Prather said on the radio?"

"Yes."

"And…"

"The Secret Service investigates all threats made against the President. It's White House policy not to comment on those investigations."

It took the press members a couple of seconds to process what Adam had just said. Finally Shaun (the other reporter) asked the question that was on both of their minds. "Are you saying there's going to be a criminal investigation?"

Adam looked up from the coffee maker at the two for a second, then hammered home his point by avoiding the question. "I really can't comment on that right now." He feigned a look at his watch and told them, "Damn. I've got to get back to work." His mission accomplished, he turned around and went back to meet up with Tommy.

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10:00 a.m., Situation Room

Three floors below the Oval Office, in the bowels of the White House, lies a room that is as technologically advanced as anything human hands have put together. While not well lit, it does receive enough feeds from supercomputers to give a detailed look at any spot on earth at any given moment, the capacity to listen in on any communications involving U.S. troops, and, at the moment, contained several military faces that would have been very familiar to any post-Countdown Rangers. (Rangers just always seem to work best with those who know their secrets, what more is there to say?) From the Lightspeed project in Mariner Bay, Captain Mitchell was seated on one side of the table, joined by Wes Collins, who brought his years of expertise leading the Silver Guardians to the table. With the help of Billy's Aquitian connections, they had also put together the technology to connect with what was left of the Terra Venture project, allowing them to both give and receive advice (when necessary) in real time from Commanders Stanton and Renier on the distant planet of Mirinoi. These two appeared on a video screen that was located on the wall opposite the interactive world map that was currently being studied by National Security Advisor Taylor Earhardt. And standing at the head of the table was the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. None other than the Ranger who had had to do the unthinkable a decade ago, knowing the good that would come of it, General Andros Hammond. The only non-earthling of the bunch, he had adopted his wife's last name when they got married, as he didn't have one. The General was talking with Billy as they waited for the President to come down from the Oval so they could present him with the military options they had come up with.

"You know what I was thinking, Billy?" Andros asked him.

"What?"

"This is different coffee than we usually have."

Before Billy could respond to the flippant remark that was decidedly out of character, Jason entered the room. Following protocol, everyone in the room rose to their feet.

"Keep your seats," the President ordered, and so everyone did. "Andros, what have we got?"

"Three retaliatory strike scenarios, sir."

"How soon can they be operational?" Billy asked.

"As soon as the President gives the order."

"You guys don't need any prep time?"

"It's already been done." Turning back to Jason, Andros went on. "All three plans are comprehensive, meet the obligations for proportional response, and pose a minimum threat risk to…"

"What is the virtue of a proportional response?" Jason interrupted him.

"What exactly do you mean, sir?"

"A proportional response. What exactly makes that a good thing?"

"Uh, sir," Andros started up again, "I'm still not entirely clear…"

"They hit a plane, so we hit a transmitter, right? That's a proportional response?"

After a lengthy pause, Andros tried again. "Sir, if you'll turn your attention to Drago One…"

"They hit a barracks, we hit two transmitters. Am I right?"

"That's roughly it, yes, sir."

"This is what we do. I mean, _this_ is what we do."

"Yes, sir," Billy told him, "this is what we do. It's what we've always done."

"Well, if it's what we've always done, don't they know we're going to do it?"

"Sir," Billy interrupted, "if you'll take a look at Drago One…"

"I have read over the plan for Drago One a dozen times. It's two ammunition stockpiles, an abandoned railroad bridge and their Intelligence HQ."

"Those are four highly-rated targets, Mr. President," Andros informed him.

"But they _know_ we're going to hit them! Those areas have been abandoned since they blew up the plane. We know that from these damn satellite photos!"

"Sir," Billy tried to interrupt, but to know avail.

"They did that, so we do this. It's the cost of doing business; it's been factored in, right?"

"Mr. President…"

"Am I right, or is there something I'm missing?"

Andros answered that question. "No, sir. You're right, sir."

"Then I'll ask it again: what is the virtue of a proportional response?"

"It isn't virtuous, Mr. President. It's…all there is."

"No, it isn't."

"Sir," Billy tried again, and was unsuccessful…again.

"Excuse me, Bill," Andros stopped the Chief of Staff, then turned his attention back to the President. "Pardon me, Mr. President, but just what else is there?"

"The _disproportional_ response. Let the word ring forth from this time and place, people: you kill an American, _any_ American, and we don't come back with a proportional response. Oh, no. We come back with total disaster!" On the word "back," Jason slammed his fist down on the table, knocking over the glass of water that had been sitting in front of him. Fortunately, the glass had been nearly empty. Still, it was more than a little unnerving, and had left the room speechless for a moment.

It was the outspoken Taylor that chose to break the silence while everyone else was still processing what Jason had just uttered. "Mr. President, are you suggesting that we carpet-bomb Damascus?"

"I am suggesting, Ms. Earhardt, that you, General Hammond and the rest of this room take the next hour and use it constructively. Put together a legitimate response scenario that doesn't make me feel like I am merely giving some cranky preschooler a timeout!" Jason stood up, holding the folder that contained the information Andros was going over in his hand. He slammed the folder down on the table and stormed out of the room, leaving everyone speechless.

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Well, you all know how school tends to get in the way of these things. Don't know how long it'll be 'til I can get to the next bit, but I hope to get it done soon, and in the immortal words of Leo McGarry (played to perfection by the late, great John Spencer) "Act as if ye have faith and faith shall be given to you. Put another way: fake it 'til you make it."


	10. Making the Call, Getting the Call

Disclaimer, Version 3.1: Good evening, from Los Angeles, I am not Dan Rydell, nor am I Casey McCall. The Rangers aren't mine (well, in certain fantasy worlds they are, but this isn't one of them) and some of the dialogue was originally penned by Aaron Sorkin. (Ha, I said penned like people actually write these things out on paper anymore.) No warnings that I can think of, this one's pretty straightforward, and was written in several spurts, the last of which occurred while battling a horrid case of plantar faschiitis. (that's an inflamed tendon in your foot, which makes standing painful and walking a chore. Ouch!) Yes, I am still here, just incredibly busy. But with Thanksgiving around the corner, you can expect the next chapter sometime late next week. So, without further ado, you're watching WWPR on CSC, so stick around!

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11:00 a.m., Roosevelt Room

The Roosevelt Room is kind of a conference room, used primarily for cabinet meetings and intense negotiations. But at the moment, there was only one person sitting in the room, an African-American gentleman who had no idea why he was there in the first place. He was sure that there had been some sort of mistake, but he would rectify things as soon as he could talk to someone.

That someone appeared in the form of Rocky DeSantos, who entered in accompanied by Whitny, Tommy's secretary, who handed him a stack of manila envelopes with her right hand while holding a pen and notepad in her left.

"I would like a sandwich, a salad of some kind, a bottle of water, and if you can run across anything fruit-related, hang the expense," Rocky told Whitny, who was in charge of taking everyone's lunch orders that day. She quickly scribbled down what she could remember of the request and started to walk off to get everyone else's order.

"You know what, never mind the salad, I'm not going to eat it anyway."

"That would be a first."

"You know, I've had it up to about here with the jokes about my stomach," Rocky exasperatedly told her, placing his right hand against his neck for added emphasis.

"Still funny, though. So, no on the salad?"

"Right. But I would like a bottle of water as soon as humanly possible."

"As you wish," Whitny said, kind of sarcastically but not expecting him to get the 'Princess Bride' reference.

As she left, Rocky took a look at the folder she had given him, then shifted his eyes to the young man in the room. "Ethan James?"

"Yes, sir."

"Hi, I'm Rocky DeSantos, Deputy Chief of Staff," Rocky told him, not knowing that no introduction should have been necessary.

"How do you do?" Ethan responded, too nervous to recognize the name or the face in front of him.

"I'm supposed to vet you."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Vet you—investigate to discover—if there are any problems. Go ahead, have a seat."

"I don't mind standing."

"Don't worry about it. It's an interview, not a criminal investigation. Just have a seat."

As Ethan sat down in a chair just around the corner from Rocky, Mr. DeSantos continued going through his spiel. "I'm sure you understand why we have to go through this. It's a very sensitive job. It's also a very hard job. Twenty-hour days are not uncommon, long trips at the last minute; a lot of hurry-up and wait. Moreover, there will be times when you'll have to make yourself invisible in plain sight, as well as an undeniable force in front of those who want more time than we're willing to give. Sometimes the people I'm talking about will be kings and prime ministers. Do you understand so far?"

"Uh, sir, I'm sorry, but I think there's been some kind of mistake."

"Really."

"See, I came here, and I filled out an application for…"

"Yeah, I've got your paperwork right here."

"So, I came here, I was looking for a job with your IT department."

"Yes."

"And I had an interview with a Mrs. Rawlings, and she told me to wait."

"Yes."

"And then she told me to come here."

"Yes. That's because we asked Mrs. Rawlings to keep an eye out. She's recommending you for a different job."

"Sir, if you don't mind me asking…"

"Personal aide to the President. And you don't have to call me 'sir.'" At this point, Rocky realized that Ethan hadn't looked up at him since they had sat down, so he decided to try and lighten up for a moment. It didn't work.

"I don't understand."

"Personal aide to the President: traditionally a young guy, somewhere between 20 and 25, excels academically, presentable appearance, strong on personal responsibility and discretion."

"Sir…"

"Obviously we get a lot of people who meet those qualifications, so the rest is just gut instinct…or you could bribe me."

"Sir…"

"Seriously, Ethan. We call the President 'sir.' Everybody else is 'Hey, when am I gonna get that thing I asked for.'" Right on cue, Whitny came back in the room with the bottle of water Rocky had requested when this conversation had begun. She handed Rocky the bottle as he glanced at one of the reports strewn across the table.

"See, that's not…there's been a mistake," Ethan tried to explain again, only to be interrupted again.

"I'll say. Whit!"

As the lady came back into the room, wondering what was wrong now, Ethan made an attempt to leave so that he could regain some sense of normalcy. Though he should have realized by now that that was a lost cause. Whitny was now standing in the doorway, cutting off his only obvious way of retreat.

"Did Aisha write this one up?" Rocky asked her.

"As far as I know, she did."

"Could you hand it back to her and have her check a dictionary."

"What do you mean?"

"_In_successful?"

"What's the problem?"

"I don't think we're allowed to make up our own words."

"Oh, like there's no chance it's a typo."

"Well, have her fix it, will you? Serious people are gonna read that."

Whitny walked over to the table and picked up the report in question. As she turned to leave, she glanced over at Ethan, who was still standing by the table, and gave him a look that tried to communicate _if you value your sanity, leave NOW!_

"Ethan, you're standing again," Rocky said as he turned his attention back to the young man he had come in here to talk to.

"Sorry," Ethan responded, then rather meekly sat down.

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11:30 a.m., Situation Room

"As you were," Jason told the group in the room. (The same group of seven that were there when he left in a huff at the end of the last chapter, plus a couple of other folks.) Everyone sat back down as Jason continued. "I was just putting in a cameo at a meeting of cardiologists up in the Blue Room. You wouldn't think you could find a group of people more arrogant than the dozen of us, but there they are, upstairs in the Blue Room." This brought a round of laughs from the group assembled. Turning to Andros, Jason addressed the order he had handed down when he had left the room previously. "You got something for me to see?"

"Yes, sir." Andros took a deep breath as he stood up, then walked over to the wall and pulled up a map of what appeared to be an airfield. "Mr. President, we've put together a scenario by which we attack Hassan Airport, which consists of three main terminals and two runways. In addition to the civilian casualties, which could number somewhere in the thousands, this attack would also cripple the regions ability to receive both medical supplies and bottled water. Now, I think Ms. Earhardt and Secretary Matlock would each tell you what you already know, sir: that this attack would be seen—both here and around the world—as a staggering over-reaction by a "first-time" Commander-in-Chief. That without the support of our allies, without a coalition of any kind and without Congress, you'll have doled out $50,000 worth of punishment for a $50 crime."

Jason had been staring at the map in silence the whole time, so Andros wasn't sure if he had really gotten the message. He started again. "Mr. President, a proportional response doesn't eliminate our options in the future the way an all-out assault…" Jason waved at him to stop. The ball was in his court now.

"_When the time comes, you'll know what to do."_ The words Trini had spoken to him just before she left for the last time rang in Jason's head. _She wouldn't want this,_ Jason thought to himself._ Would she? Probably not. It sure would feel good, though. But I can't wantonly destroy that many innocent lives. On top of which, I'd rather not have a mutiny in this room. And on one point, they're right: we can always break out the heavy artillery later._ Turning to Andros, Jason gave him the response he was hoping for. "This other plan you talked about earlier?"

"Yes, sir. Drago One," Andros responded.

"No civilian casualties?"

"We can't guarantee that, sir."

"But you're as certain as you can be?"

"Yes, sir."

"And the military ramifications?"

"We'll cripple their intelligence network and their surface-to-air strike capacity" responded one of the other generals at the table.

"Fine. So—how exactly do we do this?"

"You give me the "go" order, sir" Andros told Jason as he stood up and walked over to a red phone that was mounted on the wall.

While he had talked himself into the plan the generals had originally set forth, Jason's heart still wasn't really in it. He just sat there for a minute, saying nothing, then simply nodded his head. Taking that as the yes it was meant to be, Andros picked up the phone and told the person on the other end of the line: "This is Hammond. I have a "go" from the President. Start the clock on Drago One and stand by for the confirmation code."

As he hung up, various voices around the room congratulated the President on his first military action in office. Jason was of a different opinion as he took a sip from the glass of water that had been sitting in front of him. Setting the glass back down, he stood up and muttered, "$50 crime? I honestly don't know what the hell we're doing here." He marched out of the room, still angry. Andros looked over at Billy and the two held a wordless conversation in which Billy promised to have a word with the President as soon as possible.

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12:05 p.m., Roosevelt Room

"Okay, I'm going to ask you some questions" Rocky told Ethan. "Strictly routine, we ask these to everyone, do you understand?"

Ethan responded with a silent nod, and Rocky began. "Question One: have you ever tried to overthrow the government?"

"Is this because the IT job is no longer available? Because I can come back…"

"Ethan, this job is actually better than the IT job. It pays better, you don't have to put up with getting yelled at for 15 minutes at a time before telling someone to just hit the reset button, and instead of that, you get to be Personal Aide to the President."

"I see,…so, maybe if I came back…" Ethan was interrupted by a knock at the door, which proved to be the last face Ethan had expected to see: his old leader, Tommy.

"Hey, Rock—Ethan?"

"Dr. O?"

"What are you doing here?" they simultaneously asked.

"I was just looking for a job, and Mrs. Rawlings sent me here."

"Angela's got an eye for personnel."

"I'm gonna take a wild, flying, half-court stab in the dark and say that you two know each other, then?" Rocky said.

"You could say that, sir," Ethan told Rocky.

"He's an old student of mine from Reefside, who wore a lot of blue, if you know what I mean." Tommy continued, while Ethan wondered what the good doctor was doing blabbing such information to a co-worker. Unless…

"No kidding," Rocky said. "Well, then, I guess we can just bypass the rest of the questions, then."

"Wait, you mean, you know?"

"About your day job saving the world? Yeah."

"But that would mean…"

"I was working with Tommy on the same project while you were sitting on Santa's lap and asking for a Sega Genesis, Ethan."

"Wait a second…you're _that_ Rocky?"

"Guilty as charged."

"Okay, I am officially weirded out."

"What? No awe at being face-to-face with another of your elders?"

"Sorry. I ran out of awe pretty quickly. You might want to try Conner."

"Now he tells me."

Before the bizarre reunion could continue, Adam came sprinting by, popping his head in the door to round up the gang. "Guys, Billy's office, now. It's happening."

Before racing out of the room, Tommy turned back to Ethan. "Seriously, you ever try to overthrow the government?"

"No."

"What's been stopping you? But, seriously, you got the job. Welcome back, and welcome to the White House."

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	11. Civis Americanus

Disclaimer: Good evening, from Los Angeles, I am not Dan Rydell nor am I Casey McCall. I am, however, about five months behind schedule on this thing. Sorry about taking so long. Anyhow: the Power Rangers and all related characters are the property of Disney, Saban, Jetix, and/or whoever else owns them. I just know that it's not me. Aaron Sorkin created The West Wing, which is where I got some of the plot and some of the dialogue. Have I forgotten anyone? I hope not, but then again, I'm broke, so suing me isn't worth it. You're watching WWPR on CSC, so stick around!

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Act 4: Civis Americanus

12:15 p.m., Billy's Office

"At 11:47, the President gave the go order for a retaliatory strike, code name: Drago One," Billy informed the senior staff that had raced into his office.

"Just out of curiosity," Tommy interrupted, "but why are we naming a military mission after a former Ranger?"

"We named it after the constellation, didn't we?" Adam asked.

"No, then it would be 'Draco', with a 'c', not a 'g'" Tommy immediately corrected, sort of slipping back into leader mode, but not really. "Dra_go_ was Trent, my white-wearing teammate back in '04, remember?"

"Honestly, Andros names these things," Billy said, slightly exasperated. "I shall convey all of your concerns to him the next chance I get, but for now, to keep our cover, I surmise that we can just say it's supposed to be Draco—with a 'c'—and just claim it's a typographical error. I am correct in assuming that this is plausible, yes?"

The guys realized that Billy was slipping back into his habit of using as many multi-syllabic words as possible, which in high school was all the time, but now usually meant that his patience was wearing thin. So they decided to shut up, leaving it to Kat to ask the next question. "Yes. Now that that's cleared up, what are we hitting, and what are we hitting it with?"

"On the record?" Billy asked her.

"Of course."

"Two stockpiles of munitions at al-Hassan and Mukarrat, the Saffian Bridge and Syrian IHQ in Damascus. You'll get the standard weapons briefing in half an hour."

"Okay, but they'll tell me what we're supposed to be attacking with. What are we _really_ doing?"

"That is what we're attacking with. But—let's just say there's a reason we made Andros our Chairman of the Joint Chiefs."

"You mean…"

"Exactly. He'll be following far above in his beloved Megaship to keep our guys as safe as humanly possible, and to make sure we don't miss."

"That's all well and good," Tommy interjected, "but I've been on that ship and it's not exactly built for stealth. How is Andros going to keep the rest of the known world from seeing him coming?"

"Other Ranger teams pop up all the time," Adam responded. "Anyone who spots him on their radar will hopefully mistake it for a zord belonging to the new guys."

"Hopefully?"

"It's a guess," Billy responded. "Whether it's educated or not, I don't know."

"And we all know how much you love that."

"Yeah, but Andros was also publicly outed back in 1998, so if it gets out that he was the one flying it, no one will be any the wiser. Getting back on subject, we're going on the networks at 7:00, so Tommy, Adam, start zeroing in. Kat, not one word to the press on this before Jason says it on TV, got it?"

"Absolutely."

"Okay, that's all for now, guys."

"Thanks, Billy," was murmured by several of the group as most of them scattered to do whatever it was that they needed to be doing. Only Billy and Rocky were left in the room.

"Let me guess," Billy told his fellow blue, "you're looking for something to do."

"Well, at the risk of turning into you—affirmative."

"Something on your mind?"

"Yeah. I was just interviewing this kid for Nate's old job. He's one of Tommy's kids, bright, which I'm sure he'd be able to show if he hadn't been scared out of his wits. You'd like him a lot."

"So, what's the trouble?"

"He's black."

"So were three of the first eleven of us, including the lady who keeps your head attached to your shoulders."

"I know that, it's just the visual. A young, black man holding the door for the President, carrying his bags on state visits? I know slavery ended in America 150 years ago, but people have long memories, you know."

"I know what you mean."

"So what?" Andros suddenly interrupted. He had been standing in the open doorway long enough to hear the gist of the conversation, and felt compelled to put his two cents in. "You know, I always found race relations on Earth to be ridiculous. You're all the same on the inside. We're all gonna die, have dirt thrown in our faces at a cemetery, and then the mourners will all go back to some church and eat potato salad. Regardless of what they look like in the mirror."

"Well said," Rocky responded.

"Is he qualified for the job?"

"Absolutely."

"Are you going to give him a decent wage?"

"Affirmative," Billy answered.

"Than the rest doesn't matter. We've all been in real, life-or-death battles out there, guys. We don't have time for the cosmetic ones." Andros stole a quick glance at his watch. "Speaking of time, I've got to get in the air."

"Good hunting, Andros," Billy said by way of wishing him luck.

"Don't worry, Bill. No one's coming back in a casket today if I have anything to say about it," Andros said as he donned his cap and left the room.

"So," Rocky started, "again I am left with nothing to do."

"Yes."

"Like a writer on a movie set."

"Yeah, I've got nothing for you here," Billy told him. "Hey, why don't you take this Ethan guy to lunch and than see about getting him settled in. You remember how ridiculous most of the paperwork is around here."

"True, I could spend a good half-hour just helping him explain away his spandex-related past for the background check."

"Definitely. I remember that one all too well. He'll need all the help he can get."

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3:00 p.m., Adam's Office

"Adam, Matt Covington at the _Post_ wants to know how much longer it'll be until one of you guys can answer the phone," an unknown lady asked a harried Mr. Park as he rushed through the communications wing colloquially known as "the bullpen."

"It's my first bombing. I don't know yet." He quickly crossed the threshold into his office and slammed the door. Tommy was sitting there, scribbling away on a legal pad. His office was right next door, but the two had found that they worked best together, bouncing ideas off each other.

"I'm looking for a third word to describe the attack. What goes with unprovoked and cold-blooded?"

"Unwarranted?"

"That's good. Unwarranted…"

"…unprovoked and cold-blooded, exactly."

"Don't those all mean the same thing, though?"

"Sort of, but they each have their own nuances."

"Fair enough. Trini would probably tell you just how they're different."

"I'll take your word for it. I mean, I barely knew her."

"To be honest, I wasn't all that close with her, either. At least, not as close as the others were. There was that one battle where the others were trapped inside a monster on some island, but we never really had any of those really meaningful talks, you know?"

"Yeah, I guess. But you still had to have some idea of what she was like."

"From what I saw of the group dynamic, she was the mediator, the voice of reason. With a really deep sense of honor."

"Sounds like someone worth knowing."

"She was one of us. And that was the least of reasons why she was worth knowing."

Adam nodded, then turned to the computer on his desk. "So: unwarranted, unprovoked and cold-blooded?"

"Yeah."

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6:45 p.m., West Wing corridors

"This over here used to be the White House Counsel's office, before Tommy and Adam conquered and pillaged," Rocky told Ethan. The two had been filling out paperwork for the last four hours, so Rocky had decided to help Ethan relax by giving him the 10-cent tour. "I guess all that's left is the Oval and a fly-by of the President. We've got a national address in a few minutes, though, so he may not be—alright, where'd he go?" At this point, Rocky noticed that Ethan was no longer walking alongside him. Turning around, he spotted the boy standing about ten feet behind him, again sporting a deer-in-the-headlights look. "Come on, just keep up with me." The two then walked into the Oval Office.

The scene before them was only slightly chaotic, with a camera and teleprompter both pointed at the desk and spotlights on either side. Jason, Tommy and Adam came in from one of the other doors, haggling over last-minute changes in the speech.

"What happened to paragraph seven?" Jason half-asked, half-demanded.

"It got moved back," Tommy told him. "Page 3, in bold."

"I meant paragraph eight."

"We cut that half an hour ago."

"France will read between the lines," Adam added.

"I'd like to see it again, please," Jason told them as a staffer wheeled a television monitor into the room. "I'd like to see _anything_ again. Hayley, I still can't find those damn reading glasses!"

"The porters have been searching all afternoon, sir," she told him. "They'll turn up when they turn up."

"This is getting ridiculous," Jason said, throwing his hands up in the air. He then turned to Adam. "When do we get the ballistics report?"

"There's a bit of a problem there, sir."

"Why?"

"Ordinarily, we'd get help with early information from sources inside the Syrian intelligence…"

"So what's the problem?"

"Well—we just _blew up_ Syrian intel—"

"Oh, for the love of—will someone get a hold of CNN and find out if we hit anything!"

Billy came racing in, holding a manila folder. "The ballistics report, sir."

"Thank you. Now if only I had my glasses, so I could actually _read_ this thing."

"The staff has turned your bedroom upside down, sir," Hayley told him.

"This has been all day. We could have brought in an optometrist by now!"

"An optometrist can't fold all his equipment into a briefcase."

"Who died and made you 'Stating-the-Obvious Girl'? I don't need an optometrist; I just need the glasses he prescribed."

Kat walked over to the desk, holding a different report. "Sir, if you'll take a minute to familiarize yourself with the _Lobo_, the press will be…"

"I am familiar with the _Lobo_."

"You understand I'm not talking about the _Diamondback_."

"The _Lobo_! I studied that report last night. Matlock was with me in my private study. The _Lobo_, the _A-61_, the _Falcon_, and the _Diamondback_. Are we covered?"

"Yes, sir," Kat responded. On the other side of the room, Ethan whispered something to Rocky.

"For want of a pair of glasses…" Jason droned on. Meanwhile, Rocky said just two words to Ethan: "Tell him." But still the young man remained silent.

"Try mine, sir," Tommy said, offering his pair to Jason.

"Tell him," Rocky urged Ethan again.

"We're looking" came the call of another staff member in the hall.

"While we're looking," Adam interrupted, "can we take a look at the new para—," but Adam wouldn't have a chance to finish the question.

"Oh, crap. I can't see anything with these."

"Ethan, tell him," Rocky hissed. And he finally took his cue.

"Mr. President?"

Silence reigned in the Oval as all eyes turned to the guy with a guest badge around his neck. Sensing an opening, Ethan continued. "You said you read the report in…"

"What?" Jason asked incredulously.

"You said, you read the _Lobo_ report in your private study last night, sir."

"What of it? Who is this?"

Suddenly, Hayley figured out exactly what Ethan was referring to. Turning to one of her assistants, she gave an order of her own. "Have a steward go to the President's study. Have him look under the papers on the coffee table."

With one crisis solved, Rocky started to introduce Ethan to Jason. "Mr. President, this is Ethan James."

"I don't have time for new people right now," was the response.

Billy had had enough, and decided it was time for that talk. "Mr. President, can I have a moment?"

Jason nodded and walked back out the door he came in, which led to Billy's office. Tommy flashed Billy a quick look, pointing at his watch, to remind Billy that time was of the essence.

"What do you need, Billy?" Jason asked as Billy shut the door behind them. Billy then proceeded to shut the other doors around the room as he answered.

"Well, you've gone through everyone who works for you and everyone who's married to you. I didn't know who you could get mad at next, and I was afraid the American people might be next. By the way, when we're done, you're sending the Mrs. some flowers."

Jason nodded, but kept his mouth shut for what seemed like a good thirty seconds, then dove into history to make his point, picking up steam and volume as he went. "Did you know that 2,000 years ago, a Roman citizen could walk the face of the known world free from the fear of molestation? He could walk from Spain to Persia unharmed, cloaked only by the words 'civis romanus': 'I am a Roman citizen.' So feared and so universally understood was the wrath of Rome as _certain_ should harm befall even one of its citizens. Where was Trini's protection, to say nothing of the rest of the people on that airplane? Where is their retribution? Where is the warning to the rest of the world that Americans shall walk this earth unharmed, lest the clenched fist of the most powerful military force in history comes crashing down on your house?!? In other words, Bill: WHAT THE HELL ARE WE DOING HERE?!"

"We are behaving the way a superpower ought to behave, and the way you would hope a human being would behave."

"Well our behavior has produced some crappy results. In fact, I'm not so sure it hasn't _induced_ it."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about 286 Marines in Beirut. I'm talking about Somalia, and the USS Cole, and yes, I'm talking about planes flying into skyscrapers on a late summer morning!"

"And you think that ratcheting up the body count is going to act as a deterrent?"

"You're damn right I do."

"Then you're getting forgetful as well as stupid. I'll tackle the stupid part first: American history is a laundry list of quick-fix solutions that have done nothing to solve the problems they were designed to stop. Alcohol consumption in this country increased during Prohibition, to say nothing of organized crime. You tell me, how did mandatory busing of public school students do at ending racism? Capital punishment hasn't put much of a dent in the crime rate. This would just be the next link in the chain. You want to start using the American military as your personal avenging angel? Do you? Well—you can do that. We're the only superpower left. You _can_ conquer the world like Alexander or Charlemagne. But you'd better be prepared to kill everyone, and you'd better start with me. Because I will raise up an army against you, and I _will_ beat you."

"What else?"

"Huh?"

"You said I was forgetful and stupid. What was I forgetting?"

"I vow you took over fifteen years ago."

"What vow?"

"Ranger rule number two: never escalate a battle unless you're forced to."

Jason felt a shock wave run through him as the words of their mentor were fired back in his face. He realized Billy had played the logic trump card for this hand, and had beaten him. There was only token resistance to be put up from here. "They killed _her_, Billy. They took the life of one of our own."

"I know."

"We are doing _nothing_."

"We are not doing nothing."

"We're blowing up a desert?"

"Four high-rated military targets."

"And this is good?"

"Of course, it's not good. There _is_ no 'good.' It's what there _is_. It's how you behave if you're the most powerful nation on earth. It's proportional, it's reasonable, it's responsible; it's _merciful_. It's not nothing. Four high-rated military targets."

"Which they'll rebuild again in six months!"

"Then we blow them up again in six months! We're getting really good at it!"

This was greeted with a sigh, so Billy let him down gently with one last reason. "It's what our fathers taught us—including you know who."

Jason softly responded, "Why didn't you say so," and walked over to a chair near the window. "Geez, Bill, when I think of all we went through to keep each other alive back then, and then all the trouble you went through to get me to run, and then to get me elected—I could pummel your ass with a baseball bat."

Both men started laughing at that, slowly at first, then snowballing to the point that they both had to sit down for their own safety. This fit brought the story from the morning staff meeting to Billy's mind. Jason still hadn't been told yet. "Oh, here's something you'll like—Lance Prather…"

"Oh, I like anything that starts with Lance Prather. Let's have it."

"Well, Prather goes on the radio yesterday, and he says the people in his district love America. And you'd better not go down there, because you might not get out alive."

Jason sat up in his chair, still laughing. "Lance is calling me out?"

"Apparently the people in Lance's district are _so_ patriotic, that if the President of the United States himself were to show up—they'd kill him." They broke down into another fit of laughter.

"Adam must be ballistic!"

"The man is beside himself. We could sell tickets."

The tension sufficiently cleared, Jason suddenly felt a twinge of remorse over what had just transpired in the next room. "By the way, the kid back there in the Oval, the one who figured out where my glasses were, who was that?"

"Well, if you want him, he's your new body man."

"What's his story?"

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6:57 p.m., Oval Office

Back in the other room, Kat stepped over to Adam to ask a few questions. "What do you think's going on in there?"

"I don't know," Adam responded.

Changing tack, she continued. "Do you know anything about a story going around that has the Secret Service investigating Lance Prather for threatening the life of the President?"

"No."

"Jackie Andrews from the _Union-Tribune_ has you quoted as saying 'the Secret Service investigates all threats made against the President and it's White House policy not to comment.'"

"Yeah."

"Did you say that?"

"Yeah. Hey, you don't suppose that's how the story got started, do you?" The sarcasm was flowing so thick from that remark, you could have boiled it down and made a pretty nasty syrup. "Just make sure the next time Mr. Prather comes calling, you tell him that I said there's a new sheriff in town."

_Men_, Kat thought to herself as she turned and conducted a strategic retreat to the other side of the room.

Rocky hadn't noticed any of this. He was busy along with Tommy trying to apologize for Jason's rather curt behavior earlier. "I think this was just a really bad day."

"He's not usually like this," Tommy added. "He can be incredibly civil when he wants to be. It's just been a difficult last few days, highly emotional, you know?"

"Yeah," Ethan responded. "I should probably go." But before he had a chance to, Jason stepped back in.

"Excuse me, Ethan? Can I talk to you for a second?"

Ethan seemed mildly shocked, but Jason was in a far more cordial mood than he had been just ten minutes ago. "It's okay," Jason started again. "I don't bite often." Ethan walked over and reached out to shake Jason's hand. "I'm Jason Scott."

"Ethan James."

"Listen, Bill Cranston—oh, wait, that's right. You know of most of us already—Billy told me about how we ran across you and let me just say I'm honored to meet another of our successors. You're a credit to the legacy and I'd be personally honored if you were willing to put up with more of our insanity. So, what do you say? You want to come help us out?"

"Yes, sir, I do."

"Thanks, Ethan." Jason shook his hand again, then walked behind his desk.

"Thirty seconds, Mr. President," the cameraman said as a make-up artist walked behind the desk to give Jason a last-second touch-up.

Billy walked over next to the desk and asked, "All set?"

"You tell me," Jason responded.

Billy gave his friend a quick once-over and fired back, "That's a pretty ugly tie."

"My niece gave me this tie."

"My nephew gave me an ashtray he made at summer camp."

"Get out of my sight," Jason said in a manner that clearly indicated he was joking. "Somebody throw this guy out of the building!"

"Stand by," the cameraman ordered as everybody sans the president moved behind the camera.

"Thank you," Jason said to everyone and no-one at the same time.

The voice of a news anchor could be heard on the monitors in the room, explaining to the TV audience what would take place on air following the President's address. Ethan leaned over and whispered to Rocky, "It's not the same feeling as going out there to save the world, but it's still amazing."

Rocky nodded and whispered back, "It doesn't go away."

(on TV monitor): The anchorman finished his intro. "Here now, the President."

(in the Oval): "My fellow Americans," Jason started, "good evening. A short while ago, I ordered our armed forces to attack and destroy four military targets in northern Syria. This in response to the unwarranted, unprovoked and cold-blooded downing two days ago of an unarmed Air Force jet, carrying 45 passengers and the flag of the United States…."

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Notes: go ahead and kill me for taking five months to finish this chapter. I deserve it. The line about death and potato salad came from Tony Campolo, a minister who said it at my cousin's college graduation years ago. I myself finally graduated two weeks ago. (Yay!) But there is no rest for the weary. I then left the very next day on a choir tour to South Korea. But I'm back, with diploma in tow! Amen, If by some miracle you're still reading this, please leave a review and...tell me WHY! 


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